The Jumper's Journals
by blackshadow111
Summary: What happens when you give an ordinary person, someone completely, utterly mundane, with little special and even less important in his life, bored and tired, a shot at... well, Everything? What would you do, with all of eternity, all that was, is and will be at your fingertips? These are The Jumper's Journals, the story of a man's ascension. There's Wish-Fulfillment, be warned.
1. Chapter 1

As deaths go, mine was pretty stupid. Like, _seriously_ so, actually.

No, it didn't involve a truck. Why do people always ask that? I was an MBA student, enrolled in… a pretty good college, one of the best in India, as these things go. An accident of fate more than anything, really, considering my academic career before that, but that's in the past.

So there I was, happily strolling out the building with a friend, when he points to an ongoing blood donation camp and says "Hey, how about it?"

Now if I'd been a seer, I'd have said "Oh, hell the fuck no."

But then if I'd been a seer a lot of things would have been very, very different.

So I went through a 30 minute procedure that comprised my good deed for several days. Then I walked off. They said I might feel faint, I waved the concerns off. I walked over to the nearby balcony, looking out at the kinda-sorta forest that occupied the land behind the college…

And then I felt faint. Just about every symptom they'd said I might undergo, which I'd waved off, I suddenly did. I recall trying to sit down but catching hold of the balcony instead, and, well… you can probably guess the rest.

Impact was about forty seconds ago.

With any luck this'll get the college closed down. Might achieve some good before I go.

Speaking of which, where _am_ I going anyway? This is a pretty weird experience. I'm… not sure what I'm looking at. It seems to be the sky from the perspective of a broken body lying on the ground, while at the same time I seem to looking at… other things. _Weird_ things, flashing by almost too quick to notice. I see a brief image of what looks like a man in Chinese wear flying, then it's replaced by a white guy in a business suit, itself followed up by a pure mass of light in a sea of stars…

And then everything goes dark. Finally. Let's get a move on, why don't we?

So… the place with the endless wine and hot chicks? Or the place where I get fried alive for all time? My belief system didn't have a purgatory I know of, but we can get pretty creative with the punishments. Which I'm _probably_ going to be headed for. I mean, not _definitely_ , considering a bloodthirsty murderer got into the other place because he used to feed _ants_ of all things, but you never know.

I don't know how long the darkness lasts. It _seems_ like an instant, but it's one of those feelings where you're not really sure how long you've been asleep for, or unconscious… or dead, I guess. I, um, _don't_ open my eyes, but just _look_ around all the same. I'm in some kind of sitting room, on the most comfortable chair I've ever sat in.

And seated in front of me is…

Oh. Oh _hell_ yes. Please let this be what I think this is. If anything can ever go right for me, please let it be this one thing.

"Don't worry. It is."

I pause. It doesn't merit wondering what the being in front of me is talking about. So this is going to be one of _those_ kind of encounters.

"Pretty much, yeah. After all, I never claimed to be a good guy."

Huh. Well then, how about that?

"Indeed. Imagine _my_ shock. One in a million have the potential, and one in a million of those ever awaken it. For _us_ to be it…"

… seems next to impossible. But here I am and here he is. The entity who is probably responsible for bringing me here, and is going to be responsible for me going where I go next. _Me_. I look at the guy, dressed in an immaculate suit, specs on his eyes and a bag on his shoulders. Exactly how I was looking when I took the four-floor shortcut.

I do have to wonder about one thing, though. I'm _way_ too calm for someone who just died. I should be raging, screaming and crying, going all Dylan Thomas. Why am I so relaxed? Is it because-

"An asshole is making you be? Yup. You know how little patience we have for that kind of bullshit."

Heh. Yeah. And it's an incredible violation of trust, a complete disregarding of my privacy and sanctity of mind, of my rights as a _person_. Also, exactly the kind of thing I'd do the instant I could. Probably.

"So, something specific or the thing I'm desperately hoping for?"

"It's your lucky day, what do you think?"

Aw _yiss._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Seriously?" he asks me for the fourth time.

"Yes, seriously. Why are you even surprised? You must have done this same thing!"

"That's… not how this works. Don't worry, you'll figure it out in time. But really?"

I roll my eyes. How many times must I say it?

"Yes, really! That's I want, and that means you have to do it!"

The expression on his face grows even more bemused. "Fine, then. I change everything in your life. I open up the cosmos, the whole of time and space, every world that exists, has ever existed and will ever exist to you, to go whither you will… and the first thing you want to do is to sit and play Monopoly. You know what? Fine. Go ahead."

I don't bother with a sassy reply. Getting ahead with the build before he changes his mind is more important!

 **Monopoly**

The game was an experience like few others I'd ever had, I'll be honest. I was playing on a board alongside the likes of Warren Buffet, Andrew Carnegie and John Rockfeller, with all of them using every scrap of business skill they had to try and win against me. That's something you see every day, y'know. I was actually in trouble now and then, or at least, it felt that way.

But in the end… well, itwas _monopoly._ Considering the perks I had, such as buying up everything any player landed on so long as I offered at least 1.5 times its value, paired with the sheer _number_ of players, the fact that I had double the starting capital as the others _and_ was the bank, and that I rarely had to pay any rent given how much time I spent in jail, well…

Of course, it wasn't as simple as all that. The stakes everyone else was playing for were different from the ones I was playing for, and that led to some pretty unorthodox playing, let's just say. For one thing, I had to make interest-free loans from the bank to keep the others in the game and to pump up the amount of liquidity in play a thing. Another was additional increases in the values of the properties being sold by allowing multiple hotels or 'deluxe' hotels.

Still, again, no matter how much one might try to build it up, it was still _monopoly_. I managed to keep things going till I owned literally the whole board, with hotels on the vast majority of properties but over a dozen houses scattered from the poorest to the richest properties, and a liquid wealth alone more than a billion.

This wasn't all just real estate, of course. I owned multiple ISPs and Telecom companies, as well as a couple airlines, those being what the 'Here and Now' version which I was using replaced the original utilities with.

But in the end it matters little enough. Point is… well, this was it. When I'd started I was still more than a bit worried that this is all a dream, that I'll wake up at my bed any minute now. But now, with the cash in front of me, and land deeds and cards and checkbooks for the accounts that hold the remaining cash… well, maybe it still is, but it still feels real. Too real, if there is such a thing.

It's something I'll need to work out, I think.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So, how was it?"

"Um… were you waiting for me to come out of my reverie?"

The benefactor smiles sticks his tongue out, an act that looks especially weird since he's wearing my face.

"It was… okay. Kinda weird, tell you the truth." I say after a brief silence, There's no point trying to hide any of my thoughts from him, after all.

"Oh? How, exactly? It was a game of monopoly. Nothing you haven't done before."

"Exactly. And realizing I now have literally more money than my wildest dreams just because I sat around a table playing a game… that's kinda a big thing to grasp."

He looks entirely lost at this. I suppress an urge to sigh. How would the omnipotent cosmic being understand?

A few minutes later, though, he smiles. It's not a very nice smile. Actually, it looks like a cross between a slasher grin and the smuggest smirk that ever smugged.

"Speaking of getting things just because you sat around a table playing a game... tell me, don't you think there's something you're not noticing?"

"Huh?" I look at myself, then all around me. We're still in the same room where I was playing monopoly, the others having melted away into nothing not long ago. Uncle Pennybags also disappeared after giving me my money.

"I don't… wait. Why am I still here? Shouldn't I be along to my next jump now?"

"Ah, he caught it!" The grin on his face gets bigger, _somehow_. Really, why is he…

"…why are you smiling?"

"Because I have an idea!" he chirps, actually _hopping_.

"And I just figured out what it is. My point is, even then, why are you smiling? It's not like it's any great victory for you!"

"Hm?" he pauses for a second, before his eyebrows furrow in an expression I have seen on my face a thousand times before.

"Huh. Yeah, it's not like you're going to have many great adventures there or something." He's stopped smiling completely now, and is actually playing with his chin in that 'thoughtful' expression so many people like to make.

"Oh well. When you're a being like me you learn to savor the little things. And you actually do deserve this, consider how you managed to make a game of _monopoly…_ well, I wouldn't go so far as to say it was _interesting_ , but 'not terrible and dull' is already an immense achievement considering, y'know, _monopoly_."

"Uh-huh. And that means what exactly!"

"It means you're getting a lotsa nifty things while remaining completely safe! Yay me!"

Okay. Huh. I can't believe I was concerned about this.

"So… what's the jump, then?" I ask just a bit hesitantly. This guy has been good to me from the start, but the 'b' in ROB is there for a reason.

"This one!" He answers, before tossing me the phone he's suddenly holding.

Catching it is easy enough, and then I'm looking at the jump and I can feel myself smiling as a whole lot of paradigms shift and snap, any and all random ideas I had for my future being wiped away in an instant.

Then I shrug. Best not linger here, what with gift horses, mouths, and all that.

Let's get going!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **Generic Roleplayer + Comedy + Razzle Dazzle + Generic Hentai Modern + Generic Hentai Supplement**

"Ladies and Gentlemen, without any further ado I give you, Herrmann the Great!" The announcer's voice was brash and bold, full of a practiced cheer. The camera swiveled, following the spotlight as both focused on an empty spot on the stage.

Then the floor burst into flame right there. They rose high, raging and glowing a deep red, dancing merrily in front of thousands of people.

And then right between them, a shadow appeared, crouched over in a classic 'superhero' pose.

I pause the video here.

Turning around, I see the assembled crew behind me. They're all staring at the screen like their lives depend on it… and in a way they do. Jobs in my organization tend to redefine lives, after all.

"Now which among you has noticed what I was talking about here?"

I sweep my graze across them, the very finest technical minds in the world in the fields of video manipulation, CGI, live special effects, and all the other niche specialties that it takes to put together the show of the world's most popular magician.

Well, magician, actor, comedian, brand ambassador… but mostly Magician.

Eventually one of the braver techs starts tentatively. "You said it should look as if the flames came together and you were made of them?" he trails off questioningly, looking desperate to be anywhere but here. I suppress an urge to sigh. Why did I have to be such a tight ass in this life?

Oh, right. Because I'm the 'King' of all Stage Magic.

The ridiculous thing is, I am. Apparently taking the 'traditionalist' background, along with going heavy on the 'actually perform ridiculously well' abilities end up in making me part of one of the oldest, most respected families of the magical tradition.

You can imagine my surprise when I woke up in this incarnation as Michael Leon Herrmann, as in, yes, _the_ Hermanns, once of Germany. I don't know what exactly happened in the original world, since I never heard of us there, but here we're a _big_ _deal_ , especially when it comes to showbiz.

My father, Carl Hermann II, was the one to add in a dab of humor to the normally rather serious tradition passed down in the family, and I, that is me from before the insertion, was meant to take it on and help it reach greater heights.

Which, well, considering the show I'm currently working on has an audience bigger than the last half a dozen shows by other magicians put together… well, you tell me.

Of course, all this is strictly voluntary at this point. Herrmanns practice magic because it's on our blood. We don't do it for anything as petty as _money._ Multiple centuries of profitable shows, along with a couple of marriages to easily charmed heiresses set my father up as a man of frankly obscene wealth, which he parlayed into greater wealth still though a series of investments.

Right now I'm sitting at a fortune that makes what I made in Monopoly look like peanuts, let's just say.

Still, it allows for some pretty magnificent magic when you can afford the very best in the world in talent and toys, on top of having the skills of a ridiculously good actor, magician and comedian.

Which reminds me, I should get back to planning!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Your horses slow down as you near the Prince's Castle. It is an ancient, brooding thing, with tall towers rising ominously into the sky, dark banners fluttering in a wind you don't feel. Battlements that have seen a hundred wars loom at you, loaded with weapons and men going about them. You can feel the thrum of magic about it, present and cloying, just enough of a presence to be detected if you really focus." I pause to draw breath. This next part is pretty important, but it'll only matter if I can get it out before someone says something like-

"It's only a model!"

-that. Yeah, that.

I Derek. "Suddenly, your horse slips on a patch of ground. Your fall is rapid and unavoidable."

"Oh come on!"

I continue obstinately "As the horse's feet entangle themselves and you fall, you feel your neck crashing against a stone lying on the road."

"But I thought you said the road was clear!"

I ignore him again. " While normally there should be no danger to you what with all your protective spells and equipment, for some reason you realize that this impact bypassed them all. And then, as you lie there dying of a broken neck, the last thought that crosses your mind is "Man, I shouldn't have broken the 'no Monty Python references' rule.

"Ha!" one of the other players laughs out loud.

"But-"

"No buts! I told you, no Monty Python! Not until we're done with this, at least!"

"Oh _fine_." He sighs out, sounding remarkably like a five year old. Which is an achievement by three years to what he normally sounds like, so I'll take the win.

Yeah, bet you didn't expect this, did you? Turns out when you pick some of the biggest 'nerds', that is, video specialists and content writers and the like, in one place and make _me_ the boss, this is what we do in between work.

Well, this and about a thousand other similar games, but mainly D&D. It plays a huge part in defining the whole idea of a _Roleplayer_ , y'know.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The room's warmth was a welcome change from the chilly winds outside the building. Olivia sat nervously, wishing yet again that she'd objected harder to being sent to interview the charlatan. So okay, he had done some kind of show that supposedly 'broke every record for a public performance ever set', and had a veritable nation's worth of cult-like fans across the globe, but that didn't make him anymore a 'Magician' than it made her the president.

But the Tyson had insisted, and seeing how much her boyfriend-cum-AP loved it, she didn't want to tell him she thought magic was a load of crap, especially the magic of this 'Hermann the Great'. Honestly, this guy seemed like someone right out of 'things I like least about guys' list. A fake, _and_ a spoiled brat.

Even the name was something he inherited! A guy who couldn't even come up with a stage name of his own…

She was jerked out of her thoughts by the sudden noise, as the target of her thoughts quite literally jumped into the room.

From the window.

Into a room on the 31st floor.

Dropping into the room just next to the window, he actually, _actually_ Moonwalked to a chair, before turning to face her.

Any awe Olivia might have been conned into having for him evaporated into nothing at the sight, especially with the goofy, expectant look on his face.

And then she froze. Going still, Olivia scanned theface, looking as close as she dared. Then she looked him up and down, pausing at specific places. This… she'd arrived little over five minutes ago. Did he know she was coming? That shouldn't have been possible, since she hadn't told anyone when exactly she would be coming to him, as part of her standard interviewing style.

He must have found out somehow, and gotten a makeup team into his room. Or something. _Anything_. Because the alternative was too crazy.

Because what Olivia had in front of her was not a man. She tried to gather her thoughts again, trying to say something, but failed again and again. She looked at the face, at the perfectly chiseled jaw, the nose that was the finest she had ever seen, and eyes of the purest metallic-grey.

She looked downwards, at the shirt stretched tight across a broad chest, a hint of rock-hard muscles just barely apparent underneath.

Olivia would later thank every god she knew of that she'd been able to skip across what was lower, going straight to his legs, before she managed, with an immense exertion of will, to bring her eyes back to his.

The whole checkout, and she wouldn't fool herself into thinking it was anything else, had only taken about a second, thankfully. Olivia looked close at him for any sign of recognition of her lapse, and found it immediately, a tiny smile playing at the edge of his lips.

She then watched, fist clenching tight and mouth almost opening agape, as he very, very deliberately slid _his_ eyes down her body.

She could almost _feel_ him undress her with his eyes, a sensation that sent a wave of what she desperately tried to convince herself was repulsion crashing throughout her body. She was aware, always had been, that she was an extraordinarily beautiful woman.

She had blonde hair that looked like a wave of solid gold down her back, eyes blue as sapphires, and a figure that could, and had, gotten veteran priests to knock holes into stained glass windows. The number of times she'd been under the male 'microscope', so to speak, was more than she could count.

None of them had been like this. She thought she could feel phantom hands running across her breasts, one pausing at her nipple and circling it oh so gently. She _knew_ it when the man in front of him was trailing his eyes across her exquisite legs, and when he paused them, again, on her breasts on their way back.

Then he smiled wider and extended a hand.

"Hi, I'm Michael Hermann."

She extended one in return, just about managing to not clench a fist and slug him on the jaw for his stunt right now.

"Olivia Selkin, _Latest and Hottest._ " She half sighed. Not for the first time, Olivia wished her show's name was something less… _cheap_. It made them the butt of a lot of jokes, or would have if it didn't have the following it did. As it was, no one at the channel would imagine doing something to rish the single biggest cash cow they had.

But that didn't help her with this guy, did it?

"Oh, I know." There it was, smugness dripping off of him. He took her hand into his, shaking it with a firmness uncharacteristic of what she'd peg his character to be.

He gestured for her to sit back down, taking a seat himself.

Gathering herself again, Olivia placed the recorder on the desk in front of her, setting it to record and looking the man she was interviewing in the eye.

"Well, Mr Hermann. You are one of the most popular public performers in the world."

He smiled again, half bashful and half smug. "I have some fans, yes."

"Not just some fans, your numbers outmatch your closest five competitors put together. You've performed shows across the world." She insisted, trying to establish hard facts so that she could build up properly for what came next.

"Alright, so yes. People like me, I'm funny!"

Huh. She had him. That was quick, Olivia had expected it to take a while to get him to stop the self-depreciating comments and get a positive comment for himself. Doing it this soon would actually reduce the anticipation, but she'd handle that later.

"So how does it feel to be the greatest fraud on the planet?" she said boldly, focusing the camera on her lapel entirely on his face to catch the reaction.

To the man's credit, there wasn't so much as a flicker on his face. He did pause before speaking though.

"Ah. So that's the kind of interview this is going to be, is it?"

"It is, Mr Hermann. Don't you know me?" she said sweetly, barely resisting the urge to bat her eyelashes. She didn't know why, but there was something about him that just made her want to revert to being a child. It was an old instinct that had served her well for a long time, am innate understanding of just how best to interact with people of various types.

And right now, it was telling her that the best way to get the exact interview out of this meeting was to just try and have fun with him in little ways like this.

And it was working! Instead of getting angry like so many other people whe knew would have, Michael Hermann smiled, his grin matching hers. Then he leaned in.

"Well, if that's the case, why don't I let you understand just how important this work is, in so many ways other than money. It's a chance to introduce unaware people like you to true wonder. To bring charm and fun back to where it's been chased out of, to bring _magic_ back into people's lives!"

Olivia rolled her eyes. She'd heard this drivel a thousand times before, and it wasn't convincing her now when it hadn't the previous times.

But then he continued. Slowing down, he looked her straight in the eye, and continued speaking.

But as he did, Olivia found herself entirely unable to focus on what he was saying. She was aware that it was something about how a life without magic was entirely without worth and how people _needed_ magic in their lives… but she really couldn't give a damn. Her entire focus was on him, on the sheer smoothness of his voice, on how the muscles on his chest moved when he made animated gestures…

Before she knew what she was doing Olivia was leaning across the desk, clasping hands behind his neck. She leaned in closer, and, absently noting the look of surprise on his face, captured his lips in the hottest, most passionate kiss of her life.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Well, this is nice.

I wrap my hands around the woman, pulling her onto the desk for easier access. She's _attacking_ me now, tongue smashing into mine in a brutal assault of a kiss. I don't mind, this happens when you've been going for chaste stuff your whole life.

Pulling her straight onto the desk, I step back a bit further, hands firmly around her. I pull her all the way across, ensuring her feet land on this side of the desk. Then I allow myself to go to work. I must say, this woman is _beautiful_. One of the finest specimens of female beauty I've ever had the chance to encounter.

I keep one hand on her back just below her neck, pulling her tight to me, enjoying the way her breasts press into my chest. My other hand roves downwards, touching and picking the whole way on specific spots. Each touch is responded to with a moan into my mouth, so I continue till I get to her ass.

My hand dives straight under her pencil skirt and what I feel to be lace panties, kneading the flesh of her fat, juicy ass directly, enjoying the way it feels between my fingers. I keep at it for a while, enjoying the way she keeps trying to swallow my tongue whole with every touch.

Eventually, of course, I withdraw, as she comes up for air.

"We shouldn't be doing this. I- I have a boyfriend."

"Well, he is the one who sent you here, isn't he? Let him suffer for exposing you to the big bad fake, especially when you didn't want to."

Wait.

Oh, crap.

I _know_ what I just said wrong, even as the words fade from the air. Sure enough, Olivia's eyes, clouded with lust, clear in seconds, regaining focus.

"What?"

"Nothing, I just said he should suffer for sending you in!"

"But how did you know I didn't want to come?"

"I…" crap. I feel a dozen responses coming up even now, but I also know it's too late. The haze has already cleared, and the guild should be following in 3…2… and _there._

I can actually see, thanks to one of my perks, as the flashes of her boyfriend, all the promises made and good times spent, come rushing into her head, followed by a veritable tsunami of guilt.

She steps back in a second, standing up straight.

"I… forget about it. I should go."

I don't roll my eyes, but it's a close run thing.

Then I act. It's a tiny trick, so subtle she notices none of it. But it should help later. For now, though… my telepathic powers are meager, barely worth the name. But they should be able to do _this_ well enough.

I smooth over the guilt she feels, weakening her internal arguments and recriminations with suspicions and anger she's had at him. Then it's a matter of leeching away some of the active emotion around what just happened, leaving it sapped of strength in her mind.

And it works! She's obviously not over it, but she'll start justifying it to herself in a couple moments from now, and I'd wager that by the time she reaches the floor she'll have started delving on just how _good_ it felt.

It should prepare her nicely for the surprise I left her, at least.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As she walked out into the hotel atrium from the lift, Olivia shook her head lightly. What had she been thinking? No, it wasn't her fault, it'd been something he'd said, something about him… that had made her kiss him like that.

But what a kiss it had even been! She could still feel his taste on her lips, like chocolate and wine and everything else she loved. No, it was probably for the best, Olivia thought as she neared the glass door, that she hadn't gotten an interview. It meant the chances of her being sent back to him were miniscule, and that…

Olivia stepped out of the building, nodding absently at the doorman holding the glass door open for her. As she stood in the chilly air whipping around her, she suddenly went ramrod straight.

Why was she feeling a draft like this?

Very, very subtly, dreading the answer she knew she would get every second, Olivia checked. Yup. She wasn't wearing panties anymore. That sunofabitch. How did he do it?

So distracted was she that she completely missed the man walking towards her till he rammed into her shoulder in his hurry to get into the building.

As he purse fell and the contents clattered out, she shook herself out of her reverie, waving aside the man's apologies and starting to gather things up.

Then she slowed, but very deliberately did not let herself freeze up yet again. There, in the middle of all her stuff, was her recorder. The recorder she perfectly recalled had been tossed aside from the desk when Hermann had pulled her across it and started… nevermind.

But what was it doing here? How could it possibly be here?

Very, very deliberately, she finished picking everything up and walked away from the building. Getting into her car, she hit play on the device.

And then she listened, in growing confusion, as a full, detailed interview played itself. They were all there, every question she'd planned to ask, every trick she'd intended to play on him. He had accounted for himself well, very well, as a matter of fact if the 'believer' tones she heard from herself towards the end were anything to go by… but how?

How was this possible?

And what was she supposed to do now?

Not for the first time this morning, Olivia Selkin wondered just what she'd gotten herself into.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

So… yeah. Restarting the whole story, taking a real proper look at just what I want to do with this, where I want to take it.

This chapter was just the essentials, a basic start to things. I'm hoping to get into proper action pretty soon, so hold on! Before you ask, Olivia's story will not be continued. This chapter was basically a collection of snips from each of the facets of our protagonist's new life. We'll get into more details about each of them in coming chapters, but this is a 'trailers only' chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a Tuesday morning when it all began.

There are many gentleman's clubs in the part of London known as St James' Street, so many that more than once it has been dubbed 'clubland' by the less fastidious. The very oldest and most exclusive among these is White's. Like the rest it has no hint of advertising or suggestion on the outside, nothing to proclaim to the world what and where it is. The idea is that those who know where they'll going will get there, and those who do not don't matter.

In the club there is a quite magnificent bow window, and directly underneath it is a table that has long served as a mark of the most influential person in the club, and once, Britain and by extension the world. Though the personages seated there now were certainly no slouches, and indeed, one of them could quite possibly make a genuine claim to be all three of the above.

The other was a man in his forties, hair a sharp blond, sharp green eyes shining from behind exquisitely crafted spectacles. He was dressed in a suit, of course, by the finest tailors in the city, an institution he was himself a part of, after a fashion.

The other was an old man in his seventies, with a face that retained all the handsomeness of a long gone youth along with deep wisdom carved into heavy wrinkles. In fact, were it not for the fact that the actor had never existed in this world, he would have been considered a spitting image of Ian McShane.

And right now he was speaking, again in a voice exactly the same as the actor.

"No. I will not have it, no matter what you say."

This pronouncement was declared in the calmest possible tone, centuries of breeding guiding every syllable. But for all that it was as final as the grave.

But the other man was well accustomed to hearing such words and changing what they meant. His voice was just as calm and cultured as he made his point.

"That's not your sense speaking, Wilfred. The boy _needs_ this. You've seen his state nowadays. He's putting most Americans to shame, and that's saying something!"

"And if anyone deserves to be allowed such, it's certainly him. You should know that, John!" Wilfred responded, voice getting just a bit tense.

'John' just shook his head. "It's not a matter of what he deserves or not. He _needs_ to start putting his life in order. He needs to undergo the traditions his families have been going through for an age now. In fact, I would say he deserves _this!"_

"And I call you a fool. You did not see him, John. You keep busy in your errands, but you didn't see the state he was in when we got him back. What it did to his mother…"

"I am well aware of what it did to my sister, Wilfred. And that's all the more reason why he needs this. Do you really want all of that, everything that was expended, to be in vain?"

Wilfred was apparently taken aback by this, lapsing into silence as he did. He looked the other man in the eye, deep in thought.

Then he spoke. "Very well. I will think on this. And of course, you will need to convince him."

"We'd best get it done soon, old friend. You know we can't wait for very long."

At this, a glint of absolute _rage_ flared in the old man's eyes, before it was contained by decades of practice. He drew himself up, rising from his seat in a single motion. "I am Wilfred Charles Nicholas Montague. You will wait as long as I tell you to wait, or you can start begging on the street to finance your missions. You go and tell Chester that. Those exact words."

To the other man's credit, he didn't back down. "Really, Wilfred? The money card? You would use that, knowing just what it is you would be putting at risk?"

The other man smiled the laconic smile many, many men in his family had been famous for since time immemorial. "Without a second's hesitation."

Several miles away, the young man they had been arguing about groaned loudly, hands bunching up into long red hair, pushing gently at the head connected to them, even as the owner of said head continued at what she was doing.

Without letting go of the hair, he reached out with his other hand. Looking at his target, a nondescript package lying on the far table, he calculated just how to go about getting it to him without stopping this very, very nice exercise. There was no question of getting it direct, of course. It was too far for any amount of leaning.

But the bedside table wasn't, and nor were the empty syringes on it. He picked one up, all the while keeping one hand on the back of the lady's head. That she hadn't needed to come up for air for so long was impressive already. He supposed the diving lessons had paid off.

Keeping his eyes at the target, he calculated the trajectory one last time. Then he wound back his arm and let the syringe fly. It hit the cylindrical award on the glass shelf above the table, making it fall on its side. That made it push the cellphone lying next to it, his phone in fact, tossed there in a hurry several hours ago.

As the phone fell, he picked up another syringe and tossed it straight at the device with exactly as much force as he needed to push it so it fell onto free end of the tray extending off the table. The tray, being thin plastic, flipped immediately, launching the item that was on the table end.

This was what Edward Oscar Montague caught between his fingers, a thin syringe much like what he's tossed to get it, only full.

Just as he was about to let the needle push into his arm, the woman stood up all of a sudden.

"Seriously? Another one? This is the seventh this night!"

"Well, it's the morning now, sweety. And you know I need this."

"No, you don't. Stop trying to kill yourself!"

"Oh come on. Kill myself? That's a bit melodramatic, don't you…"

The young man trailed off, falling back to the bed literally in the middle of a word.

The woman, alarmed, leaped to her feet. "Eddy? Eddy, what happened?"

The young man said nothing. Considering everything that was in his bloodstream, few in the world could have, in his place, though he certainly was one of them.

But there was an entirely different reason why he was nonresponsive right now. It was because behind his closed eyes, inside his head, he was _screaming_.

Well, not really. It was more like "Fuck, fuck, FUUUCK!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was more than an hour later, and I was still struggling to get my head wrapped around my… head.

That did not come across well. I was sitting in my car, watching absentmindedly as Ashley Knight kissed her husband full on her mouth with the same lips that… never mind.

That was irrelevant anyway. The point was me trying to impose some kind of order and sense onto my head, to understand just what was going on in this train wreck that was apparently my pre-insertion self's psyche. It was not an easy task, even with all the advantages I had, considering he seemed to have been determined to be literally made up of booze and drugs when I inserted.

And so the way I squealed when I heard the tap on my car window was totally justified. Looking out, it was a bald man with the build of a guy who could be a bouncer in a club full of bouncers, tapping gently on the glass with a knuckle. I opened it and asked "What?"

"Your grandfather wants to see you, sir." Right, right. That was where I'd seen him before. He worked for my grandfather in this world.

I considered saying something pithy and playing hooky on the meeting. I had a lot to go through and figure out in my head, and I didn't need local relatives figuring out something had changed before I could even start.

But even as I opened my mouth to say the words, they wouldn't come out. What I heard instead was "Sure, I'll be along right away."

Because every idea, thought and instinct my new self had under the haze of drugs was screaming at me at the same time. You did _not_ say no to Wilfred Montague.

On the plus side, the ride gave me a chance to really work on myself. Letting my instincts guide me, I found myself gently making gestures with my fingers, gestures that I could feel were useful to manipulate my own mind, to allow it to… control my body's autonomous processes?

How was this possible? I was doing it at the time, literally performing the steps, and I didn't know how it was possible to do something like this. Autonomous processes were called that for a reason. There was no way the brain could directly control or even manipulate them, they worked at their own pace in their own way.

But my brain, somehow… could. I could feel it then, once I allowed myself to focus. I would literally _will_ my skin to get tougher, my body to heal faster, my muscles to move quicker… all of it, directly controlled by my conscious mind

Oh, and the ability to tell my system to flush the toxins in it way, _way_ faster than they would normally go. I could almost literally feel the drugs draining from my bloodstream, being clumped together and forced into corners where I could get them out through a simple visit to the toilet.

Which all helped, certainly. I couldn't tell if my grandfather was surprised to see me sober or not, but my memories certainly said he should have been.

And my memories, man… that was another story to tell. Not at the time, of course, but a story all the same. They were… weird. I had a perfect memory perk, which meant my whole life from the moment of birth onwards should have been one clear, perfect record to me. And most of it was!

But right in the middle, nine years were… fuzzy. Not 'gone', but rather it was as if there was something, something in me keeping me from getting at them. It was failing in the face of the perk I had, but the fact that it hadn't simply evaporated meant it was never going away entirely.

Oh, well. There would be time to worry about that later.

"Hello, Edward. Sit down, why don't you?" Sir Wilfred Charles Nicholas Montague, Bt, VC, KG, Duke of Manchester and Dorset, Earl of Denbigh and Pembroke, along with a hundred other titles, spoke. I continued standing. That was Odin!

Wait, no, that was just the last role I'd seen him in. But that was Ian McShane! Ian McShane was my grandfather in this world!

And he was saying something.

"…your uncle John. People are getting concerned for you, Eddy. This behavior… we understand that your past makes you… susceptible, but you must understand, you are the last hope for our house now."

I just nod along, trying to recover more of my memories. What world is this anyway? What was my build here? And _why can't I remember!_

I feel something inside me curling up at the last thought. Why don't I remember building for this jump? What choices did I make?

I delve deeper into my memory, looking in. Just before I inserted, I was… I was going into Ashley's house… no, no, wrong set of memories. I was…

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

 _I was sitting on my table in the warehouse, looking at the man standing next to the door, leaning on the wall._

" _And you're sure I can't remember anything?"_

" _Yes." He answered, absentmindedly_

" _So I'm being inserted into a world that's a mishmash of all the ones I picked, and I won't know just which ones, and I won't know my builds. In return you give me these discounts and freebies."_

" _Yes. Why are you stating… oh. Clever." The entity that could create and end multiverses with a breath drawled in a voice far too similar to my own for comfort._

" _So clever, that I am in fact going to allow it. You may keep this memory to remember the terms of your entry into your current jump,_ Edward. _Know that you will recover your memories of your builds, of the universes you're going into and the things you know of in those universes, only after you've completed this jump. But all of your perks and items will make their way to you as soon as reasonably possible, and you will have all your perks working normally._ "

 _He suddenly spoke louder, nailing me in the eye with a glare. "Now get out."_

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ah. Crap-baskets

Well then, there was nothing for it. I turned my attention away from my own memories, and unto what gramps was telling me.

"You need to get your life in order. And to help with that, I have decided that you should be allowed to consider an offer made recently."

Oh? I straightened my back, sitting up more sharply. "What offer?"

He gestured to the side, towards the door. "Your uncle John is on a phone conversation right now. Once he finishes, he will explain everything to you."

"Already finished, actually. I was just waiting for you to prepare him." 'Uncle John', Sir John St. George, the brother of my mom stepped in. I had fond memories of him, he helped raise me when my parents were too busy in whoever knew what. Of course, he was also the guy two years later who left me alone in the house which got me abducted, so it wasn't _all_ fond memories.

"Well, Eddy, let's go out for lunch and I'll tell you all about my offer."

At this my grandfather jumped in. "Absolutely not. Talk to him in front of me, John."

John _actually_ _rolled his eyes_. He must have been braver that I gave him credit for, to do that at someone who looks like Ian McShane in all his wrinkly glory, let alone everything else he was.

"You know very well why we can't do that, Wilfred. Now if the Pro Forma protests are out of the way…" he turns to look at me. What? Am I supposed to do the standard 'youngster' things now? Like yelling how I don't need him and then running off to walk on a deserted stretch of road?

Fortunately, he says something before the silence can get awkward.

"Alright, then. Will, don't worry, I assure you I'll keep to our agreement. Eddy, come on. We'll go to that sandwich place you love. And then I can tell you all about Kingsman."

I paused at that. "That tailor shop you-" I turn towards my grandfather "insist at buying your clothes from? What's that got to do with me getting my life in order?"

Seriously, what? Kingsman is one of the best tailors in the country, actually, scratch that, they _are_ the finest tailors in the UK and possibly the world, according to everyone I – the me before I got inserted – had talked to, but what could they possibly have to do with me getting better at… well, living?

"I'm not becoming a tailor, if that's what you want. No way in hell."

John smiles. "No one is going to make you become a tailor, Edward. Why don't you come with me and we can talk all about it?"

I went with him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I considered my decision one last time, even as the car started to decelerate. Part of me was still amazed, bewildered at how John, no, 'Tristan' now, had started us on this journey. I mean, secret subway underneath the shop? And it was deeper, at least a whole line's worth deeper than the actual tube.

But now I needed to shake it off, so I did, mentally filing away the whole thing. Truth be told, I still wasn't _entirely_ sure this was the right choice. The way he'd put it, Kingsman would teach me everything I needed, all the discipline and control a person in my position would need, along with a whole lot of other skills… and I could do some good, some _real_ good along the way if I was up to it.

And I knew that I needed this, this discipline. Although I was far from the wastrel my local self had allowed himself to degenerate into, I knew at all times that it was never impossible for me to go the same way. I was fundamentally not a very innately strong person. Always allowing myself liberties, allowing myself to get away with excuses, changing my mind and my own decision and making excuses for myself.

That had been how I'd basically ruined my career prospects, my health and so much more, and that had been as an ordinary guy. Here and now, with the opportunities and the resources I would have access to in this life and future ones? There was just no telling just what I might end up doing. I knew even then that the fact that I had those worries was supposed to be a good sign… just as I knew it wasn't.

I mean, I knew it was a bad idea to stay up reading 'With this Ring' the night before my exams too, just I knew that doing… well, most of what I'd done wrong in life was wrong before I did it. It just never stopped me.

Maybe now, with the training and experiences I can get here, it could make a difference? In any case, something told me I didn't have all that much choice beyond the superficial. I didn't remember anything about the Kingsman story, nor my build for this jump, except that logic dictated I must have one, but I did recall something from the doc itself. It wasn't anything specific, I believed that would have let me guess the plot, but something vague.

Specifically, that there was nothing I could do to prevent myself ending up in the interview for Kingsman. How I knew it, I had no idea, but I did know it.

And then I looked up. This was another little hint that I had to have at least a couple more jumps taken along with Kingsman; I had been able to think all that, a pretty detailed introspection, in less than a second. That was always handy.

Soon the car came to a stop, and John gestured at me to get out before him. I got up form my seat immediately, walking to the door. On the other side was an empty room, painted dull, with screens fominating the wall closest to us, and the far wall wholly occupied by a huge glass window.

I walked up to the window, looking beyond into… oh. Wow. That was… a lot of stuff. As in, a _lot_ I counted at least a dozen planes, hundreds of cars, was that a _tank?_ Helicopters… okay, so we weren't joking around here after all.

"Yeah. Everyone gets stuck at the window. Believe me, by the time you're through, all that will seem quaint. Because it is.

I just nodded at my uncle. He pulled at my shoulders, prying me away from the window. I followed him out the door into the corridor attached, where a guy I could only imagine being Merlin, from Tristan's descriptions, was waiting.

"Ah, just in time, sir!" He said to Tristan, before turning to me and nodding sharply once. I nodded back, mind still half at the hangar.

"Who else arrived already?"

"Well, I believe everyone, sir. Lamorak didn't pick anyone, of course, and Gawain is still on about that tournament idea of his…"

"Actually, I don't really care." John drawled, glancing at me and then turning back to Merlin. I got the feeling I was being really underestimated just now, though I couldn't be sure. John, sorry, Tristan was a bit too… weird at times for my instincts to make sense of him.

"Say, is Galahad here?" he asked, turning back to Merlin.

Merlin chuckled lightly "Of course not, sir. He's Galahad."

Tristan smiled. "Yup. Good ol' Harry."

He turned back to me "Well, Eddy. Here's where we part. With any luck, the next time we meet will be at the verge of you being named Lancelot."

"Same, Uncle John."

Okay, then. I could do this. This was nothing special, just one more job interview… though the most dangerous Job interview in the world.

I stepped into the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Well! Hopefully this will be a better track for the story to go. How many different franchises are part of this world will be revealed officially only once the arc is finished, but I do intend to add in clues in advance of the character discovering things. Of course, speculation and guessing are more than welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

"Alright then, let's just get a blood sample and we should be done for today!" Merlin chirped out, far too cheerfully for my mood. I'd been in one of his labs for hours now, undergoing everything from X-rays, MRIs, CT scans, followed by samples of everything… as in yes, _everything_ , and now the last one was a blood sample.

I'd been poked and prodded, pierced with needles, provided my piss, shit and sperm in a jar, and all that _after_ spending the first half of the day 'fitness testing'. As if you could call being awoken at 6 in the morning and taken onto a continuous five our obstacle course 'testing'. It was torture!

And it was pretty much what I signed on for, so there wasn't any point saying anything.

"When can I expect the results? And what is this all for, again?"

"You'll have the results when I give them to you, and you'll know the reasons when I tell you. I am not your family doctor, you aren't the billionaire heir here. You are a Kingsman cadet and I am a serving Agent. You do not ask me questions. Is that clear?"

"Yeah, yeah, got it."

"I beg your pardon? I asked, is that clear, cadet?"

I sighed internally. This was like a scene from a bad 'coming of age' movie. "Yes sir!" I barked out with as much energy as I could muster.

"Well then. Extend your arm."

I extended the arm.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The meeting place was a brightly lit terrace of a small bar in a tiny Scottish town. It had been booked in the name of Mr. Spencer, by a man whose name was not Spencer. One man sat at one end of the table, two at the other, looking quite concerned.

One of the two asked the man on the other side to explain what he'd just said.

"It means his whole nervous system is seriously strange. There's neural tissue throughout his body, in places it has no business being. Glands, his lungs, even the inside of his heart!"

The other man held up a hand.

"What did you say again, Merlin? My nephew is not some kind of… mutant."

"What? No, of course not! No, you're not listening!" Merlin was saying, sounding almost manic with how fast he was trying to get the words out.

"He has neural tissue, brain and nervous system extensions, where there never are in people! And we found… other traces too."

"Well?"

"It's deliberately grown. There were markers in the flesh consistent with radioactivity, and a few chemicals we've previously seen enhance neural growths. But whatever combination they were used in, we haven't seen anything like it. Never!"

Tristan, the uncle of the young man being discussed, nodded. His mind was ablaze with the possibilities of what this could mean, but there were more important concerns in the here and now.

"So what does it mean for him?"

"Theoretically? Only good things. He should be able to control, actually control, everything from his digestion to his healing. Which is the more dramatic part. He could heal from virtually anything in hours and days, if he was conscious to direct the process."

"No."

"Pardon?"

"You're not conducting any experiments on him. Not a one."

Merlin almost _whined_. "But come on, Tristan! He's-"

"He's _my nephew_. He's all I have of her. On our friendship and the friendship you had with the lad's mother, you'll not breathe a word of this."

Merlin's face fell, becoming altogether more serious.

"Not even to Arthur, Tristan?"

"Not even to Arthur. Until we, and more important Eddy knows exactly what this is and how it works, it stays among us. Come what may." John enunciated, stressing every part of the sentence.

Merlin knew when he was beaten, but it didn't stop him from being annoyed. Things had been invoked that he felt should've been best left buried, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Very well, Tristan. I'll do as you say, until we know exactly what this is. What do you plan to do regarding that, by the way?"

John looked around, more out of habit than need.

"I intend to act, old friend. There are some leads regarding his disappearance that turned up a few days ago. I'll dig into them, see if I can find where they lead."

Merlin nodded. "Very well. I'll try and get a complete assessment of his skills, see how far we can push him and what we can make him into."

"Do what you have to, Merlin. After everything that boy's father did, he's in for a busy, busy life. It falls to us to prepare him as best we can."

"Of course. Take care, Tristan."

"You too, Merlin."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Faster!" the voice of the drill master echoed across the gym like gunshot. The place was empty, with just one treadmill running. The boy on it, directly opposite where the drill master was sitting, was dripping wet, sweating so much one could have been forgiven for thinking he was just out of the pool. Every breath came in desperate gasps, his limbs trembled even as he continued to run.

The display on the treadmill read 12 km/hr. After yelling, the man in charge pressed a few keys on his keyboard. In the gym across the glass wall, the display on the treadmill rose to 15 km/hr.

The man watched the kid. He struggled for every breath, growing slower and slower. More than once he visibly flagged, almost getting thrown off the device. And then he didn't. Somehow, with some infernal source of strength, he managed to remain on the mill, trudging on.

It was the culmination of a long day of physical fitness exercises, exercises that the boy's contemporaries, some of them having trained for Kingsman for literal years, had breezed through while he had barely scraped by just like he was now. But he'd held on, asked the trainer for extra assistance, and here they were.

"Okay, pop three and take a drink." The barking voice echoed across the speakers again, accompanied by the treadmill starting to slow to a crawl. It was never quite disabled, not in this place.

The boy jumped off, walking to the wall where his bag was in his locker. He popped three unmarked blue pills from a side pocket, tossing them in followed shortly by almost his whole bottle of water.

In the room across the glass wall, the trainer looked on.

perspective shift!

Frankly, I was more bored than tired. This was only the first day, and already I'd been able to feel improvement in myself. It was slow, of course, but it was there… and that raised its own set of questions.

But all that didn't matter much. I knew it was only a matter of minutes now before the trainer would tell me to jump off and go to sleep. Training too much could be just as harmful to a person as too little, after all. Broken muscles, brittle bones, all that. I had a feeling none of it was a concern for me, but how the hell would I know for sure, let alone go around explaining that to people?

And even if I could, did I really want to? Everyone acted around here like Kingsman was secure like anything, but the people here _were_ men and women. That meant they could be bought, corrupted and subverted. I really didn't want any news of my abnormalities esacaping even before I myself knew about them for sure.

So when a few minutes later the trainer did tell me to go away… I went.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He was standing very, very still. The machines on the wall tracked him all the same, watching with their mechanical perfection for the slightest, movement, for a pull of a muscle, or the bending of a joint. The guns they were connected to were capable of reacting at literally a fraction of a second, and had been commanded to do so by the impossibly minute sorceries flowing through their circuits.

The man in the center of the room, a young figure twenty-indeterminable years old, a wiry, taut figure still losing the last vestiges of long years of easy living, eyed them methodically. In his head he'd drawn up a full plan, the exact ways he would need to move.

Now if only he could do it. A few seconds after his latest look-over, a sound echoed from beyond the room. "Okay, start!"

And then he did. He started with jumping ahead, covering several meters in a single bound that took him away from the initial volley of bullets. He landed on his palms, flipping himself with the catlike grace of a circus acrobat, twisting _just_ so to avoid the second flurry of raining missiles. It was a race against time, to just _not be_ in the position he had been a moment ago, to remain that tiniest percentage of a moment ahead of the guns trained at him.

The flip off his palms brought him high, allowing him a brief look to center himself again. Even as he did, he could see the guns adapting, starting to aim ahead to where he _would be_ rather than where he was. Because of course prediction was on. Why wouldn't it be, other than the fact every single one of the trainers had sworn up and down they wouldn't do it _this_ time?

Well, he could do predictions of his own. The way to complete this flip was to land on the balls of his feet and then pivot left, followed by a crouching jump. Instead, he struck out with his airborn leg, hitting the ceiling and bounding off to shoot through several meters of air to land at the exact spot where he would have avoided in any other run-through.

He pivoted then, _right_ instead of left, jumping high to twist in the air just so. He was close, _so_ close. The room was a dozen meters long, but the 'active' zone had been reduced to half for beginners' trainings. As soon as he completed his twist, Edward Montague landed on his feet and kicked off the ground with one, bending as low as he could in the process.

He slid across the ground, looking to all the world like a spectacular Limbo player. A second, two and then three… and he was through, out of the 'active zone'.

Standing up, he suppressed his jubilations, turning to where he knew the viewing section was. He'd _done it_. He'd bet them all, everyone who'd had fun at his expense for falling behind in the physical courses, that he could do this, and now that he had, he-

He fell to the ground as a dozen rubber bullets slammed into him, reducing large parts of him to what were more or less continuous bruises. Then the second volley hit, and then the third, before he curled up into a ball. Another few volleys rained at him, hitting like punches from a world champion boxer, and with every hit he cursed his insistent naivety.

Then the trainer switched the guns off.

"Cadet #12, Edward Montague. Pass!"

Said cadet rose shakily. He didn't bother asking about the 'surprise'. The answer would be the same as the hundred other times he'd forgotten he was in a course that trained _professional spies and assassins._

Instead, he consoled himself with the thought of one particular bet that he'd won.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I still can't believe it." She muttered absentmindedly, running her hands through his hair.

They were on the floor, with her sitting with her back to the bed. He was laid out beside her, head close to, but not exactly _in_ her lap. Both were naked as the day they were born, both with a thin sheen of sweat still on them.

"What's not to believe? I learn quickly."

Roxanne Morton, 'Roxie', rolled her eyes. "Tell that to someone who hasn't tried that course, Montague. My family started grooming me for Kingsman when I was _ten._ You heard about this place what, six months ago?"

He rose slightly, raising himself off his elbows. "Eight. A little while before all this" he vaguely gestured in an 'around them' way, "started up."

"Yes. Eight months. And when you started you were a ruined, drug-addicted _mess_. Now you beat _Charlie_. What are you?"

"Very, very good, as I hope I just proved?"

She rolled her eyes. "Boys and your obsessions… you know I don't intend to answer that. Why don't you ask Le-Poitiers, eh Eddy?"

'Eddy' started at this, staring at her eyes. "I have no idea what you mean." He said in complete deadpan.

"Very convincing" Roxie answered, equally deadpan. Louise Antoinette Le-Poitiers was the 'European Languages' teacher of the Kingsman course, an expert in two dozen languages, of which she endeavored to pass on as many as she could to her students. She was also a drop-dead sexy, ridiculously flirtatious minx who enjoyed seeing the boys, and several times girls, sweat.

Eddy could have sworn no one could have found out about two days ago, when he'd casually raised the topic of his upcoming test in the 'Dodge' ring when submitting something in her office, and used that vehicle to talk his way into her bed for a very 'educational' night.

He looked at Roxie, mouth opening and closing in search of an answer. A yet-underdeveloped part of him wondered if she was going to break his neck with a chop and wanted him to act to prevent it. The rest of his brain shouted it down, considering how pointlessly crazy it would be and he could very well _incite_ something like that by acting.

When in the end she _didn't_ start strangling him and instead smiled her mischievous, impish smile at him, he relaxed. He started to say something, but she leaned in for a kiss, and it was one of the few times in his life he could genuinely appreciate democracy.

A few seconds later, they broke apart. He rose up completely, extending a hand and pulling her up immediately after. He started to say something, but she silenced him, this time with just a finger instead of a kiss.

And that was for the best, really. They didn't have the time for what would inevitably come after. _He_ was on leave for a couple days – convalescence for injuries his freakish biology had already healed from. She wasn't. She had a seminar in an hour. On Seduction, funnily enough.

"Well?" he asked again.

"Oh my god, you're obsessed. Yes, I don't regret making that bet! Happy now?"

"Ecstatic."

Then they started getting dressed. There was little of the hidden glances or shy gestures of new lovers between them. A good thing, all said, considering they _weren't_ lovers. Things like 'friends with benefits' or the even crasser two word alternatives were not suited for either of their vocabularies, but neither would describe the relationship as anything different.

Both had varied and exhaustive tastes. One had run though the whole catalogue of options available on base, simply because his biology meant he could. The other had 'items' on her list remaining, and no hurry to get to the Main Course already. But then the Main Course had offered a sure-fire, 'impossible to lose' bet, and here they were.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Well done, Montague!" Merlin's voice comes floating over the heads of everyone in the lab. I hear it, catalogue it and then ignore it. I need to _focus._

Cryptography was never my strong suite, back before all this. Back when I was one more ordinary guy, I had been an IT engineer, but that was mostly just for show. I had lacked all but the most superficial aptitude for this kind of work. What it means that now, when I'm being trained and equipped to be a murderous, spy-assassin agent is when I shine at the more 'nerdy' pursuits, I couldn't begin to imagine.

And I _am_ shining at them, believe it or not. Code and codes, both the computer language kind and the secret messages kind, are just things that I can play around with at will now, apparently. Truth be told, I don't really understand just _how_ I can do all this, which of my purchases cave me these abilities, and that's… I admit, a bit concerning.

But that pales in comparison to the fact that I _do_ understand it all! It doesn't even matter how complex or complicated any challenge I set myself! I attended one of the sessions on codes and cryptography, then slept through a few others and skipped the remaining ones, because nothing they covered could hold my interest for even a moment.

And now, then I test for them? I just completed the last one, prompting Merlin's remark. Now I'm looking at the catalogue of _unsolved_ codes Kingsman picked up over the years. These are rather more to my speed, seeing as they're actual codes instead of practice stuff. Still, if I'm looking at this right, this one is from the one-offs the GRU designed for internal counterintelligence, so if I patch _this_ in…

"Done!" I yell just loud enough for Merlin to catch it, before sending it over in a quick ping. Seriously, Soviet inter-service rivalry seems more cutthroat than the Cold War, at times. They certainly spent close to the same amounts of resources on both, for what that's worth.

A small but sharp "Bark!" interrupts me before I can start up the next set. Right, right. Time to feed Churchill.

Um, I named my dog (a purebred Belgian Malinois) Churchill. It's actually pretty weird, for some reason he only takes orders in Dutch. Which I speak now, strangely enough. Not that that counts for all that much lately. I've been sleeping through my language courses, in more ways than one… though I guess I let that secret out already.

Apparently it had something to do with some experimental testing, and him being specially bred in a Dutch lab and all. I honestly tuned out the explanation. I have a feeling he's a strong hint, but damned if I can figure it out.

Well, not that it matters all that much now. I've been here, in this world, for ten months now. The batch of recruits I started with is down to five from the two dozen-ish we started with. None of them are dead, despite the trainers trying to convince us otherwise, but I'm more than a bit convinced the trainers here haven't gotten the sun in a long time and have forgotten all forms of enjoyment other than tormenting us.

I've learned a lot about how Kingsman operates, though! It's really rather interesting. We're an international spy agency, operating entirely without any official governmental oversight. Founded after WWI, we're supported through donations from the Founding Families and a number of investments made in various interests, and of course, a steady inflow from the clothing line.

Contrary to what the official statements would indicate, Kingsman does a lot of work on the behalf of the Families, providing the menacing touch when needed to support their business interests. It's all worked out and agreed upon, of course. As I understand it, there are dozens upon dozens of Kingsman agents for this kind of work, named after all the knights ever associated Arthurian myth.

They do the nitty gritty work of Kingsman, so to speak. The 'official' work, the stuff to genuinely try and keep the world ticking along peacefully and 'healthily', is handled by a tiny group of elite operatives.

Us, specifically. We're the _real_ Kingsman, as it were. The core of the group, the topmost of the many, many would-be 'Round Circles'.

Arthur is at the top, of course. Then there's the rest of us. Y'know, Gawain, Gaheris, Kay, Tristan and the rest. Lancelot is here too, despite being a French Mary-sue, but that's just how it all works.

But _crème de la crème_ means exactly that, apparently. We're the tip of the spear, the absolute deadliest and best trained agents the organization has to offer. I got a look at the internal accounting once, and the training expenditure on each of us goes well into the millions of pounds. There's specially treated food and drugs, the best teachers in the world, ammo expended, materials used... Kingsman's not afraid to put it's money where its mouth is, let's just say.

It's also really _weird_ , in more ways than a few. Like… that doesn't do what I mean justice. It's practically _surreal_. We're among the richest young men and women in Britain, and some of us in the _world_. Our families support this organization. They pull strings in governments, pay large contributions to keep the lights on, the whole nine yards.

And in return they want their scions to be _thrown_ into danger. To be right at the striking edge of the blade, at all times. It's basically the exact opposite of how I would expect such things to work… and it's not the only case where such things happen. I've been reading up on a lot of things around me, and in more than one case, things are very, very strange.

It's… hard to put in words, exactly. There's no big, clear 'I'm what's weird about this world, look at me!' hanging around. But all around me, everything is much, much more _dynamic_ , if that makes any sense. Things that would be major, history-shaping events in the real world are taken in stride here, while people seem to make issues of ordinary things all over the place.

Or that's what my reading has told me. But relating specifically to Kingsman, it appears that despite being right at the cutting edge of the organization's efforts, being thrown headfirst into danger at every opportunity, we're the ones who seem to have the best chance at survival in this place!

It's almost like some of those tropes I used to read about. The more… _attention_ you have, the more central you are to everything that's going down, the better you do. You learn faster, survive more danger, and even get hurt less often. Ordinary Kingsman agents die like flies, but Round Table agents tend to have long, full careers, and when we do die it's always, _always, without exception_ , in major events that make or break major events. Plans of world domination foiled, civilization-reshaping schemes derailed… it's _never_ an ignominious death.

Now, it's way too early to draw conclusions… but I do need to adapt to all this. Speaking of which… _I_ seem to be part of this. I finally broke through my self-imposed blocks the day before yesterday. It took some doing, there were some pretty strange elements in my system reinforcing the whole thing. But what I found…

Okay, so me, as in the Edward Montague of this world, before the Jumper got merged in? I was abducted as a child, about 9-10 years old or so. And I was gone for over _five years_. Hell, it was closer to eight.

It was just… one day everything was in order, and the next thing anyone knows someone broke into one of the best-guarded mansions in the world and took only a 10 year old kid. Then they took me away, and, well…

Okay, they trained me as a Ninja, alright? A real, 'sneak in the shadows, use shuriken and kunai knives', Ninja. That's a thing in this world, apparently. Because why wouldn't it be?

There's more, of course. My mother… and that's before we get into Dad. The typical 'scientist' was what _he_ decided to be, man if he didn't shade it up the hell and back. Like, seriously, Dad? Coded contracts with people using obvious aliases? _Seriously?_

It's never a good thing when you're going through the shady assassin training agency's files on your father and you see pages mentioning your father and referring to ties with people like 'Destro' and someone called 'Jean Le Rouge', who would be fine… if the transaction mentioned wasn't in _Los Angeles_. Like... what's even up with that?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"And here we have your science scores. Top marks, of course." Merlin's attitude was a complete 180 of when he had first met the boy what seemed like a lifetime ago. But the year had treated Edward Montague well.

Having come in as a ruin of a person in mind and body, with drugs having ravaged his system and the accompanying lifestyle having done what had appeared to be irrevocable damage on his mind, Merlin would be the first to admit he hadn't had very high hopes from his friends' child.

These things were allowed to certain extents in the lifestyle, even expected, one could say, but remotely not close to what he'd been like. And yet, once he'd entered into the training he'd shaped up like Merlin had never seen before.

Hell, he hadn't _heard_ of something like this before. It had to do with the boy's unique biology, he was sure, as well as how he'd certainly become able to actively and directly control it a little while ago. But regardless of the cause, the transformation was _breathtaking_.

And now he was right at the verge of completing his training. Of his would-be companions, less than a quarter of the original strength of the batch remained… including the two other prospects Merlin had high hopes for.

Roxanne Morton and Gary Unwin were not exactly the ridiculous, inexplicable _monsters_ (In a good way) that Edward Montague had proven himself to be, but they remained the prime picks of this batch of would-be agents nonetheless. Smart, dedicated, fit and with that tinge of ruthlessness that really made the difference between wannabe and real.

It was a pity there could only be one Lancelot. Oh well. At least Kingsman would have their services in other ways, just not as a Round Table Agent , in any case.

Looking back at the boy, Merlin could see he was waiting for the older man to continue.

"It's time to start the field tests. You already have your scores in the climate based ones, yes?" Merlin asked. Of course the boy did. Another set of top marks. But questions like this helped put recruits at ease.

"Yes, sir." Montague said, voice smooth and crisp.

"Okay, then! Your Urban Survival tests will have additional components to it, just so you know. You'll be informed of the details after starting it, along with the other details of your mission. Be reminded that this is a Live mission. No safety nets here, boy."

A blatant lie, of course. It _was_ going to be live missions, and that was exactly the reason why they needed to provide safety nets, so that a trainee's fuckup didn't end up toppling another regime. Honestly, what had they been thinking, back then?

Merlin rattled off the rest of the mission briefing to the boy, taking care to stress the important parts. The mission he had in mind for this particular candidate was already a sensitive one, and would only get more so when the additional components were discovered. Merlin was torn between wanting to ensure better coverage in the event of failure or setting up some way to watch the whole thing. There were ways he could, too, but he'd promised Tristan…

And a promise was a promise.

When his briefing finished, Merlin waited for the boy to speak. He'd deliberately left out a few details, to see what kind of questions the boy asked. Preparation was key, after all.

And to his credit, the boy did ask. Unfortunately, the question…

"So where exactly am I going, sir? I didn't catch that in the briefing."

This was disappointing. Of everything he could have asked, he asked the least vital thing? Merlin resisted an urge to shake his head. A question was a question.

"Prague." He told the boy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

So I don't _think_ the scene should be a problem, but please, try telling me if you think it is.

Oh, and come on, guys. Someone say something! Is it really _that_ bad? Hell, say that much if it is!


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, when they told me I would be going to Prague, I didn't expect it would be like _this._

I mean, what happened to good old British courtesy, eh? Or really, just a willingness to tell people what you're going to do to them? I went to sleep in Britain last night, and now, having woken up ten minutes ago… I see Prague outside my window.

At least they put me in a bed. Though knowing Kingsman, this is probably a drug dealing crime lord's bedroom and he's coming through the door _right now._

3… 2… 1… okay, so maybe it's not. I still keep an eye on the door as I start to look around. There's an outfit, just a shirt and trousers, nothing fancy, a wallet with a few hundred Koruna in it, no ID of course, and… a smartphone.

Not a very expensive one, by the looks of it, but then it wouldn't be, would it?

Well, I can look at it in a bit. It takes me a few minutes to finish off all the morning rituals, and then, dressed and ready, I pick the phone up and swipe a finger across the 'on/off' button. And here we go. The screen is on, and the Kingsman logo flashes.

"Good morning, Eddie!" Merlin's disturbingly upbeat, Scottish voice blares into the morning air. Fuck, where's the volume button? I turn the volume down, before setting the phone down in front of me.

"Now that you're seeing this, it means you have started your Urban Survival test! First of all, congratulations for making it this far! Now, you've already had the basic briefing, so instead of faffing around, how about we go straight to the rules?"

Oh? That's new. Merlin's generally one hell of a yapper.

"I know this is old news, but let's get this properly on the record! You are currently in Prague, Czechoslovakia. We have reason to believe that a terrorist group in the region has procured an extremely dangerous chemical weapon from a group of rogue scientists from the former USSR. Your mission is to find this group, locate the weapon, and secure it. Got it?"

I catch my head tilting forward just in time. He isn't here, why am I nodding?

"Needless to say, the usual guidelines apply. If you utter the word 'Kingsman' at any time in the mission, you're out. If you let anyone find out about us in any other way, you're out. You may not use any resources that can be used to identify you, especially in your civilian identity. I expect you to understand this. Not just get it intellectually, but actually _understand_ that I mean all of this."

I do. Kingsman doesn't much care _how_ you do things, so long as you… well, ensure you do _these_ things. Kingsman does not want so much as a _whisper_ of itself out there, no matter the cost. Good thing they're operating in a world like this, really, considering some of the stunts our agents have pulled over the years.

I mean, evacuating a commercial plane mid-flight and then crashing it into a terrorist compound? Really? And yet there have been Kingsman agents who considered it a tactical and subtle thing to do. Of course, the crucial word is _agents_ , not 'cadets', but then what else is new?

"If you retrieve or destroy the weapon and do so provably, the test is held a complete success and you move on. Or, you can choose the extra credit option."

I roll my eyes. Because of course there's a surprise.

He continues. "As you know, we prefer for Round Circle operatives to be 'on the record', in a manner of speaking. That is, you need to be able to call upon a legitimate agency of some sort, be it law enforcement, an intelligence agency, or some other variation thereof. It provides a useful cover, and lets some of our… associates in the governments around the world sleep a tad easier."

I'm aware of my mouth falling open, and honestly, it's an effort to close it again. Really? They're springing this in the _test_?

"As such, while Kingsman normally uses our contacts and associates to procure such positions for agents, if you can secure such a place yourself, and get yourself the protection and resources of any state agency… well, it wouldn't be a _cinch_ per se, but you'd unquestionably cement your place as the frontrunner in the competition, wouldn't you?"

Ah. Well, I suppose if it's _optional_ , that might be fine…

"Of course, if you don't manage this and one of your fellow cadets _do_ , it'll go a long way in wiping out your lead so far too."

… and here's the flip side. Why do I even try?

The message goes on to mention the details about the mission, the name of the group among other things, but I'm only listening with one year now. I need to get started on preparing for this.

So… Prague. I delve into my mind, trying to recall as much as I can. Let's see…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"A royal flush! That's another victory for Mr Kruger!"

The man the dealer called Lance Kruger simply smiled a mysterious smile, pulling back a tall stack of chips from the center of the table. He gestured for the dealer to deal him out, tossing him a couple of chips for his trouble.

A few minutes later, as he lifted himself off his seat with a small bag full of chips in his hand, he tallied up his gains in the last three days again. It was an eminently pointless proposition to try and go after his quarry as he had been inserted, penniless and friendless.

The mission briefing had called his targets terrorists. Anarchy 99, as they were called, was in actuality a massive, extremely powerful gang that had taken over the Prague underworld a few years ago, and had rapidly expanded throughout first Czechoslovakia and soon after that, the neighboring countries. Latest info mentioned links and alliances with gangs, syndicates and cartels operating in regions as far apart as Seville and Berlin.

And ruling the whole empire was a man called Jorgi. A child of the traditional Russian _Bratva,_ former KGB with an extraordinary record, connections deep into the political networks of the former USSR, Czechoslovakia, and what seemed like a dozen countries beside. A deeply intelligent, fiercely violent man with as hand in everything from stealing cars to Sex Slavery.

Not a nice guy, that is.

Thing was, if one wanted to get close to such a guy, doing so without some serious money or muscle or both was condemned to be stupid, and suicidal, and worse, pointless. If Eddy wanted to get close to him, he would need to be someone Jorgi was interested in dealing with, someone he _wanted_ to let get close to him.

Enter Lance Kruger, the mysterious, enigmatic stranger with a penchant for underground pit fights, high-stakes gambling and a long list of merchandise he was interested in purchasing. The pit fights had gotten Eddy the initial petty cash, which he had converted first into thousands and as of now over three million Dollars, broken up across dozens of small wins over a dozen casinos across the city.

He was American, of course, as an easy way to explain everything from the odd name to the taste for guns and all the rest. And now, it was all ready. Most of the money had already been secured in numbered accounts that had then been made available locally, and with this win he'd just out together a nice thick stash of cash too, for emergencies.

Soon it would be time to get going.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It probably says something when the most time-taking part of starting on the actual mission is finding a spot in the target's nightclub that lets me keep an eye on five of the seven exits, his office and the lounge he usually sits in with his friends.

But I did, before long, and a steady stream of drinks and drugs keeps attention off me. Just one more sad little wastrel sitting here, move along, move along! I have to admit, I do feel that tiny urge of temptation, looking at the poisons I order. But no. That isn't a part of my life I'm in need of revisiting anytime soon.

As it turns out, it was for the best.

Anyone who has ever been on a stakeout will tell you, the one dominating emotion you feel is _boredom._ Be it sitting in a van in a dark alley or a corner of a nightclub keeping an eye on the place, you can start feeling an intense level of boredom the likes few other experiences can match. This is for good reason, since you have to ignore all the distractions that might have ignored it, meaning that deliberately self-induced boredom is how stakeouts actually _work._

This one is hardly different, though there _is_ potential… I look up at the phone once again. A couple days ago I'd used my surprisingly advanced tech-skills to work up a quick hack into the group's files, using their Wi-Fi. It was nothing too deep, just a basic monitoring setup, enough to get a bird's eye view of what's happening, but little else.

But it's not like you _need_ all that much else, if you know what you're doing. For example, when I detect a failed attempt to break into those same systems, it's an obvious next step to trace it back to an American Agent who then asks for permission to attempt to take it off the guy they're slated to hand it to anyway. He's gotta go start showing it around to scientists, you see.

And that says it all, really. What kind of agent _asks for permission?_

At least he'd received it. Which led me here! He's due to try and get his hands on the data any minute now, and I want to get a peek at it before he sends it off to his bosses. Ergo, the seat that lets me watch Jorgi's office, one of the few places in the world where a link to the secured databases the American's trying to access exists.

And speak of the devil… here he is! A look on my phone, let's see… ah. Whatever toys the guy's got, they must be good ones. The guy he's picked to get the data off of is not anyone from the inner circle, but due to his current role he's pretty important to the gang anyway, and if they found out his face so soon… well, they're pretty good.

Strictly speaking, I don't _need_ this data. I saw the download, and I'm pretty sure I can get at it. Hell, I could have cleaned out the whole of Jorgi's 'plans' folders (not called that, of course, but such things always have indications), if I wanted to.

Not that it holds much, mind. Jorgi is as tech-savvy as they come, but as far as I can tell he has most of his plans for the future in his head. Or if he did put them down somewhere it's not on any network. But some things you _need_ to have digital if you want to use them, such as the manufacturing details of the super weapon you've acquired plans for.

And I probably could get them if I directly hack his systems… but why bother, when someone's coming along to let me get it anyway? And seeing as this guy managed to get that, well kudos to him. Too bad he'll probably end up dead for it. Well, he _would_ have, in all likelihood. I'm here now.

I watch as the man moves around with all the grace and confidence of a three legged gazelle. He's almost in a blind panic, just _moving_ with care nor concern for where or what's in his way. And okay, there are times when such works. But not here, I suspect.

I let the sigh coming on out. This was such a nice drink, too. A quick look around. Okay, a few of the gorillas that count as Anarchy 99 members have moved, they're trying to close in on him without being too obvious. A look at Jorgi's balcony reveals there isn't a gun pointed down as of yet, but that's only a matter of time, I suspect.

Very well, then. Let's see, then. I could do it the fancy way or the simple way. Buut I need to get back and mingle with these people. The simple way it is. I put down my drink, looking around just to ensure no one's directly staring at me or something.

Then I _move_. Teleportation is a rush, let me tell you. I looks effortless, and I can tell that with enough practice it probably _will_ be effortless, but right now it's anything but. In a moment I'm standing next to the agent. It takes a thousandth of a second more to catch hold of him, and then I 'move' again, appearing in a back-alley about a dozen blocks from the club.

I push him away from me, grabbing the device in his hand in the process.

"What? Man, who are you, what just happened? I was-" I hold up a hand to silence him, being not the slightest bit interested. He shuts up, probably used to obedience a bit too much. It takes me almost seven whole seconds to copy everything he'd been uploading to the NSA onto my phone-computer.

I pull the batteries out of his toy before tossing the device back at the agent. I look him in the eye, and without bothering with much in terms of elegance, scramble his memories of the last minute. Everything after he stepped out of the office is flashes and sounds now. This will _probably_ kill his career, but hey, he'll have his health.

And then I'm moving again. I don't go back to my spot, of course. That would be dumb. Instead I appear in the closest washrooms. Walking out and looking around… ah, no one took my spot!

I sit back down.

What? It takes even me a while to properly case a place like this, and to study these people. I like that I have a good spot!

Pulling my phone back out, I start up a few apps I wrote in my spare time back when Merlin was teaching us the finer points of 'Non-Interactive Hacking'. I feel just a tad proud, when I see them go to work analyzing the data I just acquired and comparing it to previously known data points, everything they can get on the internet and my own previous entries.

While they're working, I might as well catch up on the Horoscoper. And yes, I really did name it that. It's a hindi slang to say that you know someone's horoscope if you know all there is to know about them. Which is exactly what this app should give me. I fed it the images and details of every Anarchy member I could click before Mr Tuxedo needed his intervention, and it should have _some_ results by now, however bare.

It's weird, let me tell you. I used to think real hacking is everything typical hacking isn't. You don't get to sit somewhere far away and type really fast to get past security checks, or move through weird graphics to pseudo-physically access data.

Except… you do! In this world, that is. Instead of needing to phish via emails or calls, or rely on 'most common lists' or brute force to get past password checks, it's actually possible to upload code directly to a foreign computer, Server or otherwise, and access it's inner workings instead of the interface they've chosen to put up!

Like… that's not how computers or networks are supposed to work. I would know, I studied and worked the field back before all this. You can't get access to computers like that without a whole lot of things, the IP address being just one of them. But here, I can write a quick program that can target the website source code to piggy back on the links in it, and… basically, I can do Hollywood Hacking in this world.

As in yes, 'Hack the pentagon in five minutes while a gun is pointed at you and a chick is giving you head' kind of 'hacking', where the other guy just yells 'hack faster' at you. That's the world I'm living in now!

The reason why all this is relevant, by the way, is because of the photo I just got a match for. Yelena Pyotrovna Rosnovski. As far as Czechoslovakian systems know, Russian by way of Poland, orphan, tried-and-failed ballerina (most Russian girls with the build are), drug user, arrested once or twice for dealing, and right now working in this club, exact details unknown.

The _Russian_ systems know all this too, except they add one little thing. That she's an FSB agent under the auspices of the Department of Counter-Terrorism.

Which is… very interesting, really. Especially considering _where_ I found her file. For someone so clearly still inserted and as far as I can tell, actively reporting, to be placed under 'Missing/Killed in Action – Mission Compromised'… either Moscow knows something she doesn't, or something _weird_ is going on.

I understand what the effect would be. An agent whose home cut off ties with them and left them operating 'naked' (get your minds out of the gutter, I mean entirely without support), it would be almost natural for them to deliberately go native and become the mask. The next best thing to desirable, one could say.

And Jorgi has powerful connections in the Russian Establishment. The picture all this is starting to paint is pretty disturbing, but I can't just leap to conclusions. Basic caution and open-mindedness is advised and all that.

I clear my head at the sound of the bullet. It's tiny, very nearly imperceptible, but come on. I'm _me_. A bullet was fired… a glance tells me it was from Jorgi's balcony. But who was the target? I search across the dance floor, checking exits and entrances first. Who could it…

I'm aware that my mouth has fallen open. Closing it doesn't seem like a priority here. I stare at the corpse slumped across the doorway to one of the side doors out of the club. It's a blond man in a smart suit, dressed more for a 1% gala than a hardcore rave like this.

It's… I know who he is. I know how much he weighs, and how he holds his waist as he pukes after a teleport. It's the guy whose life I saved not ten minutes ago. Why is he here? Why is he _dead?_ How do you fuck up in the exact same way _twice?_

But now that he _is_ dead, there's nothing I can do about it, is there? Why on Earth would he sneak back… did he think someone in the _group_ drugged him and kicked him out? But if that's what he thought, why wouldn't he be glad for getting out at all? Why not take 5 to sit down and gather himself and come back better equipped and prepared?

No, no. I shake my head. I'm getting distracted. Why he came back is immaterial. He did and now he's dead. I need to move on from this. I assembled a black outfit today, consisting of an elaborate combination of wrappings and coverings any child can tell you is Ninja garb. Not for the first time this night I wonder if it wouldn't be better to just go out and come back in the back in it. I could wipe out all of Jorgi's group, take him away and work him over for whatever he's planning.

It would be simple and clean… so much so that I'm tempted, really tempted, to just do it. I need to test those skills too! Ah.. if only it wouldn't get me flunked out of this test. Kingsman agents are expected to operate in a certain way, with the key point being to get good in skills that would serve the broadest possible range of scenarios.

Using skills that would likely fail against the first properly paranoid target doesn't fit that description. Ah well. I'll have other opportunities. Almost more than I can use, I'm sure.

It takes me over a couple hours of watching, moving around and analysis before I'm completely sure that I know every nook and cranny of this place. I might not have been able to use them to kill the gang just yet, but there's few things in the world that can stop a ninja capable of phasing through walls, and this place isn't one of them.

I also took the time to observe, _really_ observe my would-be marks, and yeah. I can do this shit. It doesn't even look like it'll be that hard, come to think of it.

But all that will need to wait till tomorrow. My phone finished analyzing the last of the uploads the doomed spy sent back to his people. Now I have to go take advantage of his death.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It can be surprising to some people to realize just how many similarities there are between working a con on an individual and an organization. After all, on the surface they seem like impossibly different propositions, what with organizations being collections of so many people, all with their own motivations and intentions, and ways of working.

But the thing about that is, it's hardly ever relevant. When you as an individual interact with an organization, you don't go around meeting random people. You interact with a few people, and if you know what you're doing, the _same_ few people over and over.

And all of them have their own little insecurities, their own natural instincts to compete against each other… even in things as tiny and normally irrelevant as the attention and trust of a random stranger. It's nothing noticeable, most of the time. People tend to have the good sense to move past it and think about things.

 _Most of the time_. Some times are different. Sometimes you have someone who knows what they're doing, who spent ten years in a detailed study of human mentalities, in crowds and alone, while having perfect memory and more than a couple intellectual enhancers.

Such as _moi_ , I mean.

I don't like to brag, but frankly, it's not even that difficult. The trick is to build on blind spots. Everyone has theirs. What you do is to identify those of the people you're interacting with, then use them to slip things past them and convince them not of a whole argument, but some small parts of it. In fact it's often worthwhile to _lose_ the actual argument, so long as the mark goes away convinced of some specific points.

Because see, in an organization, marks _talk_ to each other. And if you can slip your plan to them in bits and pieces, convincing everyone holding a specific piece well enough, the natural tendencies to talk and argue come into effect. They try to impose that the part of the argument you fed _them_ is obviously right, whatever the others may be, and since these are people in an organization they're used to conversational give-and-take…

Okay, so you're not really interested in the minutiae of manipulating people on an organizational level anyway. The point is, I know what I'm doing here. I just sent off the thirteenth separate email with a specific piece of the information I took from the dead agent who I now know worked for the NSA. I sent the whole thing off in bits and pieces, claiming to be… something close to what I am, actually.

Now just sending this off would have a host of unfortunate implications ranging from 'security breach, killkillkill!' to 'blackmailer, DESTROY HIM!'. That's why I made the additions to the mails that I did. Specifically, I wrote in a small note that told them I'm someone who just happened to encounter their agent, who told me about their addresses and to send the data off the way I did.

I'm sending fifteen emails to fifteen people in total, the fifteen crucial people who my hacking told me were aware of this project. Which is way too high a number, by the way, but I suppose you need to fill a conference room in one of those 'general meeting of high level people' scenes of whatever movie universe this is. Of course, as far as _they_ know it was their agent who told me those names.

But all this still won't be enough, in all likelihood. Which is where we come to the good shit. That is, facts they _don't_ already have. I start with the basics, the identities of Anarchy 99, complete with Red Army and KGB ranks, family details, and a few tidbits about their political contacts in the region. It's nothing too detailed, the trick is to _tease_ , not hand everything over on a platter.

I expect at least half to panic and report this to whatever counterintelligence wing they have. Others will probably try to find out about me and then evaluate the situation. But I'm counting on at least a few, two or three, to talk to each other, consider the info, and _think._

And if they share the pieces of information I gave them among themselves, along with the manner I did it, it _should_ paint a very specific type of picture of me in their minds. Intelligent but not very, greedy for money, probably in over my head… and utterly expendable. With emphasis on the last part. I can't be sure if it will work, but then you can't be sure about anything, can you? I've increased the likelihood as much as I could, now let's see what comes of it.

In the meantime, I have more research to do with these people.

Sending off the last two emails, I get off my seat in a hurry.

My target, contrary to what you might expect, is not the 99's club, nor any of their other holdings. No, I'd mapped out the main hotspot of their activities yesterday, and by the looks of it that's where they do the bulk of their business, at least in the city. I've been hearing rumors of someplace else where they have a real, proper stronghold, but people were pretty evasive so far.

Hence what I'm doing now. It's 10 AM in the morning, the stores of Prague are just opening, and I have some shopping to get done.

Walking around, I let myself get distracted just a tad. After all, this is _Prague_. It was the beating heart of Europe for a long time, in ways even Paris can't quite match. The Holy Roman Empire, the Austro-Hungarians after that… history is baked into the place, from its gothic architecture to the decorated cobblestone cities. And I'm interested in history, dammit!

Of course, I'm not interested enough to go off the mission into a tour, so there's only so much I can enjoy before I'm at my destination, the biggest electronics market in the city. Both legitimate and bootleg smartphones and computers, calculators, TVs, and all that jazz.

Humint is all well and good, but I need to put together a proper communications center so I can get into this stuff properly, y'know.

It takes me only a few hours to collect everything I need. It's also a pretty good opportunity to test out my credentials in a relatively safe situation, while I'm at it. If the impossible happened and I made a mistake with the fake Czech documents, better it be detected at a SIM card shop than a border passing.

But as far as I or anyone else here can tell, it's all fine. I gather up the items, nothing all _that_ much, just a selection of phones and computers along with spare parts, and step into a dark alley, returning instantly to my room.

I must say, performing for unappreciative, often jeering crowds was taxing at times, but for the sake of getting the abilities that a poorly designed jump let me get out of it, I'd happily do it another dozen times. The teleportation alone…

Once the items are placed, I turn around to head out again. I need to secure a base in the city, some apartment or office that I can operate out of. And y'know, stop being technically homeless.

Speaking of homes, I wonder how Churchill is doing. Even Kingsman rules aren't hardcore enough to make me bring him here, to a foreign city in the middle of considerable danger, but I've grown attached to the big lug.

I suppose he's most likely sleeping, now that I'm not there to alternatively train/torment him. He doesn't enjoy it, but considering how much he eats and sleeps he'd become a small Rhino if I didn't insist on the kind of physical exercise I make him undergo.

Walking out of the room, I take some time to look around properly. I have to say, it's kind of surprising how little surveillance there is in this part of the city. That was probably the specific reason why Kingsman picked this room to dump me in, but there not being a single camera in the street in 2018… it's rather surprising.

Many people, when setting out on a quest like this, would try to get something really obscure or unknown for a base. Something like a house that's mostly basement, or one of those penthouse apartments that have reinforced falls and thick steel doors and whatnot.

Most people would get caught and killed in days. My targets are the most powerful gang in this city and the country, and one of the biggest on this whole _Continent_. And let me just say they would be highly unlikely to be either of these things if they couldn't manage something as simple as keeping an eye on properties like that.

So when I buy your typical 'rich boy pad #56' in a high-rise overlooking an awesome view, and having close to zero tactical or strategic security options… it's totally not for my own comfort and has a solid reason. It does!

I'm inclined to buy the place but settle for renting it when the realtor tells me how long it would take. Honestly, who makes a flat sale take days to go through in this day and age?

Moving in still takes till the evening, which is for the best since it gets me complete a few other errands… and get started on what I actually need this house _for._

I'd never made a bug before coming to this world. Had never been all that good at things like the electronics or the instrumentation techniques involved, as a matter of fact. I wasn't too _bad_ , I understood the basics, but had no real 'talent' to speak of in the field.

Now… well, I started at this thirty minutes ago and the eighth piece just got finished. It's amazing what you can do with a soldering iron if you have as clear a vision of what you want as I do now. It could do it faster using commercially sold listening devices, but those tend to be far too easy to detect, for the most part.

Not to mention, shops that sell such devices have been known to keep track of the buyers and sell the information to gangs and the like. No, it's original devices only, at least this time. In the future, of course, I'll be able to requisition Merlin-quality devices when, not if, I clear the training and join Kingsman as an agent.

After the bugs there are other things I need to work on, especially once I charge up the laptops and start connecting them together. It takes me relatively very, little time and effort to replicate the full extent of technological support required for an operation like this, but the operative word there is _relatively_.

By the time I'm done with everything it's already dark out, the city's activities beginning their shifts to the night life. Family restaurants start closing in favor of pick-up bars and hangout spots, offices either close or pretend to, other than the ones that work 24x7, of course. There's far too many of those that remind me of the utter drudgery of the employment I once had, in a different life.

But enough of all that. It's time to get some real work done.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

And yet another chapter where I manage to keep to my new schedule! Not that much happens here, but things are set in motion and the first crossover should be _blindingly_ obvious now, or at least I hope so. There are also hints as to the other crossover scattered around, let's see if anyone finds them!

Now, as it might be obvious from just reading my first few words, I _desperately_ need a beta. So please, tell me if you'd be willing to help out?

Or at least just tell me where all I'm fucking up right here? SOMEONE SAY SOMETHING!


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, this is _ridiculous_. When one hears that a gang leader has a 'stronghold' some distance away from the main city, one expects a warehouse. Or perhaps a bar or an abandoned factory or something, even something like a house that looks ordinary but as extensive basements or something.

Whatever one may expect, I'll bet it's not a frikkin' _castle._ As in, a full-fledged, proper castle on a mountaintop!

Oh, and filled to the absolute fuckin' brim with gun-toting heavies, security cameras, and with guard posts and _patrolling units on motorized sleds_ around it. I mean come on!

But believe it or not, that _was_ where Jorgi went two hours ago, having left the club after picking up the day… well, I say day, more like the night's collection and conducting his business in the city. Y'know, the usual mix of meetings and phone calls with as varied a selection as Cartel delegations from Colombia and slave traders from Albania and Serbia to car thieves from Madrid. Then there's the other end of the spectrum, distinguished buyers of illicit merchandise of all shades, 'bag men' for Judges and Ministers of the local governments, yes, plural…

Okay, so considering how he's basically a King in his own right, maybe a castle makes _some_ sense. But still, this is Twenty-fucking-fourteen!

Oh, yeah. That's a thing. I'm four years in the past. I mean, I'd have mentioned it earlier, but really, does it actually matter? Didn't think so.

Getting back to things that do matter, I've been here for two days now. I planted the bugs I spent yesterday making into his club last night, cloned his phone with my trusty 'Force Pairing' app. Well, I say clone, the technical word according to Merlin is 'Bluejacked'. Basically, I use my phone's Bluetooth and specially designed hardware to link to a nearby phone, then make use of a very special little virus that the Kingsman anonymously paid a software genius a few years go to infect all cell phone company servers.

Yes, _all_ the cell phone companies. The Hacker went by the name of 'Wren' last Merlin checked, and he does _good_ work. The point is, I can pair my phone to someone else's phone in a way that not only does it record and let me know of all their calls, messages, data and stuff, it also turns their phone into a continuously active bug and GPS tracker on themselves. The best part is that it does all this while remaining almost entirely undetectable.

So I have an eye on just about anything Jorgi can do. It's a pity that I couldn't replicate it on the phones of the rest of his crew, but even genius has limits. It's a hardware issue, the phone just can't manage it. I do have a bunch of ideas for a better phone that _will_ be able to, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.

While the bugs across the club were a treasure trove in discovering information on the state of crime, organized or otherwise, in Prague, they didn't yield anything in relevant information to my mission. Well, it makes sense. These people are the reigning royalty of Czech crime, and that club is the Royal Court. People _will_ discuss things of that kind there… and in all likelihood, only that kind.

As far as I can tell, it's in his secure stronghold that Jorgi puts on his other hat, of the International Terrorist. Observed patterns show that no one is even allowed to know of the place till he's seen them commit a crime they can't come back from with his own eyes. Which is a _pretty_ good way to keep the secret, come to think of it. At least from the authorities.

And of course, they're the only ones he needs to worry about. Until two days ago there was no one within hundreds of miles who would imagine going up against him without the power of an established institution behind them. Many don't dare _despite_ having whole Police departments at their backs.

But as good as all that is for _him_ , it leaves _me_ in a pickle, doesn't it? Okay, so I have the full breadth of training that a Shinobi from the Black Sand clan gets… which is another thing that'll probably end up causing some kind of hellish trouble in time, but it hasn't so far so why worry? I have all these skills, so I can _probably_ get in and out of the place just fine.

But can I get in, sneak into wherever he's storing the weapon or the stuff he has on it, wake him up so I can 'politely question' him for the locations of every copy of the info he has, kill him, sneak around and destroy all those copies, kill everyone else he's shared them with, and then get back out, all without raising an alarm?

… maybe.

Would this count as passing the exam? _Bloody hell no._

Well, that decides the matter, doesn't it? I need to stop getting sidetracked into these 'quick solution via mad ninja skillz' thought-trains. I suffered for these skills for years upon years, and they _are_ useful… just not yet.

No, right now I need to figure out a better way of getting into him fortress and in all probability his organization, make him _want_ to tell me all about his plans, get deep enough that I can take the whole shebang out in one go.

Which means… well, it's a good thing I put together all that money. Now I just need a something solid to get close to him, to really _reach_ inside. Once I have the access I need, I can get working on the information and from there the plans I'll need.

Which is going to be a mess, I can tell _that_ much already, without having seen any of the data. Way it works, you go in, find stuff out, and then the big guns go in. Kingsman has hundreds of ordinary agents to be the 'sword' after the Round Table agent, or agents if the case is particularly thorny, do the 'spear-point' work.

But I don't _have_ any of that backing. I can get it, certainly, but it would mean forfeiting the victory I know I can get.

So, that leaves me with the question. What will I do after I get in and find out all there is to be found out? I _can_ wipe out the whole gang myself, but that's really not the kind of thing I want to do. I could get the locals involved, if I can get at their money and dole it out to the bribe-takers...

Or I can use the Americans, if they ever get off their asses and respond to my emails! It's been over a day since I sent them, aren't these organizations supposed to move _quickly?_ I know that they have to go through all those silly little protocols of theirs, run around in meetings like headless chickens and cover their own asses, but if this universe operates along the rules I think it does, there should be some maverick among them, someone who disobeys an order, or goes above the heads of some people to reach a Reasonable Authority Figure, and, well, you probably know where it goes from there.

Part of me hopes it doesn't happen like this. Not that I really want that, but still, I can recognize an instinct in me to try and stick to sanity. Because if this world _does_ work along the rules I imagined, then mavericks rule the day, grand gestures are going to get vindicated over proper planning every time, and Reality will always be ready to bend over and service Drama like a two pound whore.

So as inconvenient as it would make things for me, it would still be reassuring if I don't get an answer from the NSA. It would be wonderful if they do contact, but hopeful if they don't. I would be able to…

My phone rings.

Dammit.

Well, at least the email isn't some kind of silly code or encrypted message that will burn out my computer after reading it. I close down the window monitoring Jorgi for a while, opening up the email to look at it properly. It's alright, the man's asleep anyway.

And let me just take this chance to comment, a sleeping schedule from seven in the morning to eleven, twelve in the afternoon? Remarkably reminiscent of my days back when I was an MBA student. To be exact, my _holidays_ back when I was an MBA student.

Now, of course, I barely need a couple hours of sleep. I don't know which of the mesh of jumps I have this time the perk came from, but it's worth its weight in gold.

Opening up the email, I start up the usual scans on it. There are a number of hidden tracers and some other curtsey malware, of course, but nothing truly egregious. Good, then. Let's see what the NSA has to say!

… it's an address. A home address, to what looks like a house in the wealthier parts of the suburbs around the city. Have to say, as far as secret agency safe houses go this is pretty unimpressive. What happened to secret bases miles underground?

Well, that's something to take care of today, then. Okay, let's take another look at the 'banks' window. I compromised every back they have accounts in, and then every bank that had any accounts that received any direct transfers from those accounts. Not much of a change, just that their central computers inform my terminal here of every transaction, however minor, that takes place with them. This is all I need for now, after all. Not that I _can't_ make every system in those banks my bitch. But what would be the point?

If I drain his funds, how will he react? Will it make him more susceptible to make mistakes as he rushes about for funds or will it put him on guard, or does he have a vault full of gold bars he can liquidate to make the shortfall? Until I have the answers to these questions the access is useful but only secondary.

No, it all depends on getting closer to him. Fortunately, I _have_ been able to determine that he has an ongoing shortfall of money, at least a temporary one. He had very impressive reserves built up over years, but in recent months he's been going through it like water. He's been buying weapons, everything from kitchen knives to a dozen or so _tanks_ , if I read that record right.

That alone would put a significant dent in the finances of most people who aren't me, but he's been paying construction companies for something, buying _seeds_ of all things, along with animal specimens of all kinds, massive amounts of food, clothes… just about everything.

It's not sudden, in any way. Most of it started over an year ago, and it's been maintained at a steady pace, just low enough to avoid attention. But it's sped up significantly in the last six weeks, along with large payments out of funds the gang had kept separate for a while.

It's not exactly hard to imagine what picture this is painting, but the obvious conclusion… it's insane. I don't expect this man to be doing anything remotely decent, but I _have_ to be missing something, because if I'm not, then he's, he's… no. I refuse to let my mind settle on it. If I settle it'll become a conclusion, and I don't have _remotely_ the kind of data that I can justify that conclusion with.

Which brings us back full circle. To quote Sherlock Holmes, I can't make bricks without clay!

I stand up from my position, hitting the little digital switch on the desktop to transfer all alerts to my phone instead. I would've had it on both continuously, but notifications for stuff you've already seen get old really fast.

Stepping out, I set a long, almost invisible thread on the inside handle of the doorknob, to join the ones on all the other ones, the specifically pointed table ornaments. The security ensemble is completed with the cameras in the walls. Yes, quite literally in the walls. I dug out holes and placed them there, and covered the lenses with ultra-thin gauze colored exactly the same as the wall.

Turns out you can get up to some pretty crazy surveillance measures when the place is your own.

I bought a car yesterday, a Volkswagen. Wasn't my first pick, but considering where we are, it seemed somehow appropriate. Of course, right now it's 'just' a car, with none of the extra features, but give it time.

The address the Americans gave me is about an hour away. It takes me three hours, to properly do a couple rounds of it, track down all the 'grab' teams and the loose mufti agents and tag them all with the horoscope.

It helps that once I grab a couple of their shots I can use the Horoscoper to get their life stories and identify their teammates for this mission from the NSA Active Mission Logs. Gotta love bureaucracy. Once I have everything ready, or at least as close as I'm confident I'm going to get, I loop back one final time, before driving in all action-star like in the front gate of the mansion, parking close to the fountain.

Before getting out, I have one last thing to take care of. I take out a thin box from the dash, with a set of spectacles in it. They don't have any power, but that's not what they're for. A proper Kingsman glasses set is everything from a camera, a microphone, an HUD and a significantly powerful computer. I didn't have anywhere close to the kind of time and resources it would have taken to put all that in here, but I did have the time to pack in a few.

Putting the spectacles on, I switch them on for final calibration. One, two, three… the screen flashes a number of times, covering various modes and options before one eye is dominated with little references and minimized boxes of everything I have open on my phone and computer. A small gesture from my eyeball minimizes it too, relegating it to the side of the screen.

Alright, then. Game on.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He didn't look like much.

In the expectations of the NSA Head of Counter-Terrorism, the man who had stepped into the mess the 'Organized Crimes' division had made of Operation Jackhammer (computer generated name, with that day's pick being tools) should have been someone street savvy, someone who knew what was what. But this guy… he looked just like one of the typical Wannabe Bond types.

Gibbons was more than secure enough in his masculinity to acknowledge that the guy was ridiculously, frankly, _unrealistically_ good looking. More like someone who bought too much into romance novels had been at one of those cloners he'd busted in Miami back in the days. But the guy was no melter, that was for sure. Decked out in fancy clothes, a swagger in his walk and a car that probably cost more than your typical government guy's earnings in a decade.

He looked like everything Gibbons hated in an agent. Had Augustus been a lesser man, he might very well have pulled the plug on this right now and gone with his original idea. But the man had already shown results, _stupid_ good results, and he wasn't even on-board yet! And, well, that decided it all, didn't it?

As the man walked in, Gibbons could see him look around the place furtively, covering large sections of the courtyard and entryway in quick glimpses. So, either the guy was one of those perfect memory types or he had something in those glasses. No one scoped out places that quick otherwise.

He continued his inspection as the guy stepped up to the door, before muttering the pass phrase in a low tone, even as he kept a hand ready near his pocket, where just the bares hint of a gun-bulge could be seen.

Gibbons turned away at the point, turning back to his papers. He'd need to read the guy as soon as he stepped in, and that meant having an ironclad handle at everything they knew about him already.

Techs had traced his mail, through not one or two but over a dozen separate proxies and protections, back to an account linked to one Lance Kruger. Records implied he was American, but other than a passport he'd apparently used to rent a room someplace, there was no physical record back in the states.

What was more interesting was, this didn't itself suffice to prove that this guy's ID was fake. Because everything he claimed to be, each and every part of his life was shaped in a way that the records would be destroyed by now anyway.

His papers said he was an orphan, from an orphanage that burned down in the late 90s. His schooling was at a school that had since shut down, and files said there had been a major accident when the records were being moved to the new place, back in '02. Whole Van full of files tumbled off a bridge. Then there were the medical records at hospitals that had either been closed or destroyed in terrorist attacks, the college education at the institute that had since been found to have been eliminating graduate record in some elaborate scheme to elicit more grants…

Bottom line was, there was not one shred of data that could prove or denounce his identity. It was really some impressive work. Gibbons wasn't fool enough to be _taken_ _in,_ come on, but he couldn't prove that the guy was fake in a court of law, either. Because of course, every _digital_ record was perfectly in place. But in a world like the one Augustus lived in, it was a wonder anyone even took them seriously.

No, for the purposes of this meeting he'd have to take the man at face value, and just try to use him to get this job done. All other concerns could come after. In any case, a lot could be forgiven if he was anywhere close to as good as he appeared at first sight to be.

"So, here we are, Mister Lance Kruger!"

The man smiled, as if remembering a fond joke. "Yup. Here we are."

"You've presented us with an interesting situation, Mr Kruger. Got a lot of guys very intrigued in what your emails said."

"Did I, now? Would you be one of them?"

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't, Mr Kruger. But emails are well and good. How do we know you aren't a plant from Anarchy 99, or hell, just another terrorist looking to profit off of us?"

The would-be spy rolled his eyes at Gibbons. "Really? If you're here I assume you've checked out my data, and found how accurate it is. Not to mention, the fact that we're sitting here talking instead of me dodging your men around and then killing them all and burning your organization down means you're at least willing to deal."

Ooh? That was… he'd heard words like this from many people, but the way this guy spoke so casually of destroying the most powerful intelligence agency in the world, or at least one of the top three, Gibbons hadn't heard the threat ever uttered _quite_ that flippantly before. It was surprising, in more than one way.

Gibbons would have liked to sit down and pay some closer attention to the guy, and would have, had they not been on a clock. In any case every second of this was being recorded, so it wasn't as if they were losing out on _that_ much. But right now the guy would need to move fast if he wanted to get his promised work done, and Gibbons himself had a caseload a dozen feet high.

Still, he couldn't let the guy walk all over him.

"Oh, is that right?" He asked, leaning closer to the guy. He subtly turned his head, revealing a smidgen more of his burns to the man. Watching closely for a reaction, he was pleased to find one, faked _juuust_ right.

"You're cocky" He continued, when it became clear Kruger wasn't going to say anything. "I like cocky. Tell you what. Neither of us has all that time on our hands, so why don't you tell me if you've made any progress in the…" Gibbons made a show of checking his watch "Last thirty hours or so, and we'll talk."

"Oh, not quite so fast, Mr Gibbons. What about my money for the info I've already sent you? I'm not doing any of this for free, no way."

"C'mon now. You don't really expect us to pay you for info we already have before we even know if you're any good from here on, do you?" Gibbons threw it out. It was, of course, utter horseshit, he already had the money in cash right under his desk. But this was the kind of thing he felt a guy in his place should say.

The man agreed, apparently. He cocked his head to the side for a few seconds, staring at Gibbons. Then he tossed something. It was tiny, barely the size of a child's pinky nail. A memory card, like the ones they put in phones.

The little chip flew just slightly to Gibbons' left. He let it fly, up until it was barely a foot above the ground, before catching it on his toe.

The man smiled in a way Gibbons believed was supposed to be bashful. Neither of them said anything. It had been a test by the guy to see how Gibbons' senses on his injured sight were, and he had answered with 'Good enough to fuck you up.'. So they were cool now.

Gibbons picked the chip up with his hand, before tossing it to one of the flunkies standing to the side. Silence remained as the guy took it to the techies in the next room, and as they loaded it up and brough the tablet to Gibbons.

Leaning in, Gibbons gave the guy one last look before diving in. And he let himself get slack. This was… pictures, hundreds upon hundreds of them, apparently from secret cameras all over the club they knew Anarchy 99 owned. Audio files covering their deals and conversations. Text files mentioning locations and names.

This… if any of this was good, they were looking at rolling up half the 99's network across Europe. Not quite relevant to the mission, but then it wouldn't be, would it?

"We'll have to check this out, of course."

"Of course."

"So what do you want anyway?"

"Support. Backup. Access to data as I need it, the whole nine yards."

Shit, that was him basically requesting to be an agent! Gibbons reminded himself to remain calm. For all they knew the data could be worth steaming shit.

But even so, if it was _good_ …

"Not ten million dollars?"

Kruger rolled his eyes "Please. That was just to get your attention. Though I claim first right on anything I loot from these assholes."

Gibbons smiled. He'd thought as much.

"Done. I'm making you a provisional Agent, effective immediately. I'll fly someone in to hook you up with support and gear. Once we see whether all this" he held up the tablet "checks out, and how you do on this op, we'll talk more."

The man didn't say anything, didn't jump or emote at all, really, but Augustus could tell he was pleased.

Just as he was about to stand up to leave, Augustus spoke "Oh, one more thing. It's a whole diplomatic and inter-agency relations thing that we keep the local cops in the loop, at least on a level."

The newly recruited agent raised an eyebrow. "Really? The local, everyone-for-sale guys?"

"Yup. And it's not everyone, just most of them. I'll send you the details of your contact later."

With an active, loud sigh, the man muttered "Okay, done."

Then he remained seated.

"Well, fuck off"

The man smirked. "My money, asshole."

Augustus rolled his eyes. Then he stood up, and pulled out the bag from under the table.

The man took hold of it, gave Gibbons the least respectful salute he'd ever received, and strode to the door. Just before stepping out, he turned around.

"Yes?" Gibbons asked, groaning internally. He hated it when these smartasses pulled the last minute 'One more thing' shit. Half the time it was getting their friends off murder charges, and that was always a mess.

"One more thing."

Gibbons could have shot him right then.

"Yes?" was what he said instead.

"Would you please say 'Motherfucker' out loud, and in a really pissed off tone?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Didn't bother with all that many crossover hints in this one. More focus on this one, y'know. Remember the rule, I don't care good or bad, Feedback is the coin of the realm!


	6. Chapter 6

Okay, so I might have to thank Gibbons for this.

"Thanks for meeting me on such short notice, Mr Kruger." The woman leans back in her place, smiling.

We're in a coffee shop, a small, quaint place I gather is valued for its discretion among the police and spy community here in Prague. Seeing as Martina here is both and I'm sorta-kinda angling for the same fate, it's probably a good thing we're here already.

Not that I didn't already get stuff done. I met with Gibbons this morning, or maybe the afternoon. It was a lunchtime thing, you get it. Since then I've been at work tracing out the 99's support group in the high and mighty of this city. And so far it's not been looking good!

When I said there are Ministers and Judges on the payroll earlier, I kinda meant it as hyperbole, at least partly. But looking at these figures… it would honestly be easier to see who _isn't_ on some payroll or other.

He doesn't own _all_ the judges, Police and government officials in the city, especially since this is the capital and all, but damn if he doesn't own _enough_. Or more than enough, depending on where you set the line.

And worse, he's been _using_ them. Like, all the time. Extensively and repeatedly. Drug deals facilitated, hits carried out by assassins with diplomatic passports, the _army_ called in for projects that then just disappeared from the record… it's ugly.

It's worse than home, I mean, and coming from an Indian guy, that's _saying_ something.

But back to why I need to thank Gibbons. Because man, I have to say, this woman is a _bomb._ And I don't mean only in terms of her appearance, either. She's bold, intelligent and sharp as a scalpel. Y'know, the whole shebang with prodigy schooling, top marks in just about every course in every academy she was ever enrolled at, and all the rest.

Which makes the idea of her being tasked to babysit me even weirder. The order must have come from pretty high up for a bird as golden as this one, and yet I can't imagine someone in the NSA bothering.

Except Gibbons, that is. Hence the thanking him thing.

It's a pity too. She probably deserves better. But, well, I _am_ me.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She had been warned he would be impressive, but they hadn't quite covered this degree of… detail. Martina Šmuková had seen many men, and many of them very, very charming and impressive. But Lance Kruger was something else altogether.

She smiled as he laughed at one of the stories from her experiences in the academy. She wasn't completely certain why she was even talking about this, but they had run out of the hard, on-mission details pretty quickly, and neither had shown any interest in leaving just yet.

It was a choice she was strangely close to regretting now, considering everything that was happening. Every shake of his shoulder as he laughed sent a tremor through her body, as she felt strange… sensations, as if someone was touching her ever so lightly.

When he stopped and started telling her a story of his own about his training, she could feel a heat starting to gather in her. He looked her straight in the eye, and for the first time she really understood what the word 'smoldering' meant. The man was _power_ , like a Tiger freshly caught, all restrained ferocity.

With every word he spoke she could feel the phantom sensations on her getting stronger, always remaining just that side of being actually tangible. She felt as if something pinched her nipple when he talked about the narrow escape he'd had in a training accident, and when he spoke of the passion he had towards seeing the world it was as if a spirit was tracing a finger on her womanhood, right through her steadily dampening panties.

She lost his story entirely around the time when he felt her spot on the neck being touched, barely suppressing a loud moan right in the middle of the café. It was strange, she had never felt like this, never felt this _need_ that was threatening to overwhelm her. Her mouth hung open at a point, both at the surprise when he told her about how little time it had been since he started training and the little spike of pleasure that shot through her from yet another phantom sensation, this time a pinch at the exact spot in her ass that she couldn't resist.

So when he cut off his story mid-stride and leaned across the desk to capture her lips in a kiss… she wasn't exactly in a resisting mood. The kiss was everything she might have imagined, a torrential whirlwind of battling tongues and blazing sensations. She was dimly aware of them breaking apart after what felt like a lifetime, him slamming money on the table and practically carrying her out to his car.

On the drive she almost lost her completely when drove with one hand while diving into her skirt with the other. The sheer _evil_ of his smirk when he noticed the state of her underwear had her leaking all over again right there, and when his fingers made it inside, and he abandoned the road altogether to capture her again in a long, deep kiss while accelerating to what felt like a hundred… the sheer thrill of the danger really _did_ make her explode.

The drive was long, to a house he said he had gotten just that day to get away from the watching eyes on his penthouse. And so it was perfectly natural, when he said 'why don't you use that pretty mouth of yours for something other than moaning, eh?', to bend down across the gear box.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

What did I tell you? It's the story of the frog and the scorpion. I place one had ever-so-gently on the back of the head, rustling the cropped hair, as he tongue darts and swirls around the tip of my cock. She isn't experienced at this, like at all, but still, seems to know the basics of what she's doing.

I rush the whole way, taking my hand off her head to lean across with one hand and maul her tight ass through her skirt and the… pantyhose? Okay, so I might _not_ have been the only one with this in mind at the meeting. Every twitch of my fingers on her ass gets her tongue vibrating like a cell phone for a couple seconds, and when I actually push aside things and place a finger in her ass… I can feel her exploding again through the way her mouth shakes, and I just can't resist it. I move the seat back a couple inches, and grab the back of her head. It takes some adjusting, but with a quick thrust I'm in her throat, the muscles clenched tight as a vice around me.

To her credit, she adapts, swallowing on me directly and repeatedly. Good thing too. I explode right in her throat, pushing what I know for a fact is shot after shot, painting her insides white. Again, she takes it like a champ, swallowing load after load with nary a mutter.

The timing is such that we're here just as I'm done, funnily enough. I jump out of the car, running around before picking her up and tossing her on a shoulder. It's okay, the acreage around the property means no one is close enough to see, and if anyone was they wouldn't care anyway. Neighborhood like this, this is almost a daily occurrence.

It takes me less than a minute to take her in and toss her on my bed, stepping away for a second. She sits up immediately, pulling off her shirt with admirable aplomb. That she reaches across the bed for the whisky bottle is less admirable, but eh.

I settle for just watching as she downs what looks like a quarter in one go, swirling it around like… mouthwash? Okay, on one hand, that's a great thing to do, considering all factors. On the other, that's going to be _terrible_ on her breath later on.

Tossing the bottle aside, she reaches out to me in almost a blind _need_ , as I can see, which I'm only too happy to encourage by jumping onto the bed with her.

The kiss is, if anything, deeper than the ones before, and thankfully lacking of any weird tastes. I can feel her nails digging into my back through my shirt, clawing as I pin her down and go to work on her breasts. She gets my shirt off just as my trail of kisses reaches her chest, and I allow myself smirk at the way she yelps when I take a nipple into my mouth, pinching the other just right at the same time, while my other hand runs across the spots I know she has on her back.

I continue on a few seconds later, going lower. The perks and the experience I have picked up over the years have imparted in me an ability to 'play' female bodies not entirely unlike one would an instrument, and trust me, I'm a Master.

By the time I reach her cunt it's already gushing again, and I haven't even _started_ yet. I take off her panties with my teeth at first, pulling them off once they're around her knees in a trick I learned a while back. I don't _think_ she noticed that I did that without my hands or even my teeth, but if she did it should make for interesting conversation, at this point.

From here I dive into her, using my tongue to exchange the favor for the car. Only y'know, in my style. I've been doing this for a while now, and I have a certain style to it, by now.

I keep my hands wandering on her while I work her lower lips, pinching and tweaking and rubbing her everywhere I knows will drive her crazy. It's a delicate balance to bring her to the utter edge of climax, _right_ to the tipping point… and then deny her the crossing-over. It's not a matter of letting her cool down either. I keep my fingers and tongue working, mauling her ass and back, reaching up to tap the spots on her tits for a while, before she takes a finger into her mouth and moans around it even louder.

I keep the game up for a while, enjoying the way she begs and yells for release between her near-continuous moans. Her legs are clamped around me like a vice, trying to push me deeper, _just_ a tad deeper, only to be denied.

Normal women have been known to lose all coherency of thought within two minutes of this technique. It's a credit to her that she manages to continue forming syllables until five. But the time _does_ come, and I rise in a flash, taking her lips in for the deepest and fieriest kiss yet.

I enter her just as screams a scream that could have shattered the windows, starting slow but accelerating rapidly. The climax she's built up continues, her muscles clamping around my cock in a vice grip, twitching and flexing, doing their best to milk my own release from me.

I deny them this, starting to piston into her at a breakneck pace. I small into her over and over again, till I feel my tip slamming into her cervix with an almost deliriously pleasurable, borderline painful sensation.

And so we fuck.

It takes a while before she comes down from her continuous, screaming orgasm, and by the time she starts I'm already charging her up for another. As things progress I drive her high all over again, getting her into a writhing, moaning frenzy while she leaves a crisscross web of think lines across my back. Just as she's about to cum, I pull out of her soaked pussy, pulling out my messy, slick cock in a single motion. Just as she's about to say something, I flip her over, clamping a hand on her mouth just as I slam into her ass.

She screams, or at least tries to, my hand smothering any sounds before they can come out. I pull back, pulling out all of me till the tip, before slamming back in.

She falls into the new sensation within seconds, moans and screams starting up all over again, reaching a crescendo higher than ever. This time I don't bother playing with her at all. Using everything I have to bring her to climax, I time things just I feel myself nearing it.

It's fairly complicated to step back just right to flip her over, cock still in her ass, but I do manage it, leaning down and kissing her yet again just as we both erupt.

Then we're spent, and I'm pulling out, looking around me.

Man, these sheets are a _mess._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Waking up in the ever-so cliché, 'her head on my shoulder' pose several hours later was _kinda_ weird, since that wasn't a thing any of the girls at the academy ever did.

Then she opened her eyes, looking me straight.

I waited for her mind to catch up with everything, smiling just as her mouth opened in the most adorable gasp. Then it passed, and she smiled a fascinatingly pretty smile at me.

"Well, that was something."

"Yes, it was, wasn't it?" I smiled.

Both of us were adults, and both of us knew how the world worked, of course. There was no question of pining for each other or even letting this have any relevance beyond what it was.

Much more important was the mission, and the details of how to go about it. Which was what we were _supposed_ to have been discussing, but eh. It was only what, nine or ten even then. They had the whole night to get to work.

Not that she could come with him on the actual mission, of course. It was far too dangerous. It wasn't any matter of underestimating or protecting her due to her gender. She was a local cop. If the Anarchy didn't already know her, they were an email away from finding out at any given time.

No, she would be doing her part, in the bit of the mission where it was needed. Using the influence and connections she had in the local scenes to smooth things out, use American money to soothe ruffled Czech feathers, so on and so forth.

We discussed the plan over a spot of cooking. I whipped up some eggs, she made some unpronounceable Czech dish that was… okay, cooking was not her strong suite. At all.

Like, really, it wasn't. I don't even know what that dish was supposed to taste like, but I doubt it was 'salt-stuffed charcoal briquette', which was what I got.

At least she knew it, judging by the smirk she had on.

But all that was then. The plan was pretty simple as those go, but I did have a few modifications to make, just to smooth out a few kinks here and there. I spoke, we argued, she conceded a couple points, I conceded other ones, y'know how it is. It was a pretty good plan we hammered out, towards the end.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Okay, so the first part of the plan being that I walk into the proverbial scorpion's hole right in the open and shouting for him might have used some more work.

I look around, at the heavies barring my way to the front and the guns pointed at my head from the back. Then I very clearly, very obviously, roll me eyes at them, taking a step forward.

Immediately, the heavies are in my face, screaming in Russian. I lean back to avoid the spittle flying out, and genius that they are, they take it as a sign of weakness, barking orders at the gun-toting idiots at my back.

Then I act. In a second, both guns are in my hand. In another, my leg sweep has both the would-be bounders on the floor, laid out. A fraction of a second later I have my freshly liberated guns pointing at their faces.

" _Just stay down and let me talk."_ I snarl out in Russian.

Jorgi pauses in the middle of reaching for his gun, while the girl to the side I recognize as Yelena already has hers put, though not pointing at me yet.

" _You speak Russian?"_

"Da. I also don't have any interest in bothering you if you're uninterested in what I have to say. But as I understand, this _is_ where you do business, and that's exactly what I'm here for."

He doesn't look like he believes me. "What kind of business do you wish to conduct? I'm a simple nightclub owner. You want me to arrange party for you?"

I stare him in the face, looking for the slightest hint of mirth or anything, really, that acknowledges the sheer _ridiculousness_ of what he just said. There's not a hint. So that's pretty good.

"I suppose you could consider what we have in mind a party, in more than one way actually, now that I think about it. I was told you were the person to look up when seeking appropriate fireworks for the celebrations."

He stares at me, silent. His eyes go from my face to my hands, down to the guns I'm pointing at his two flunkies. Then he takes his eyes away from me and I know he's looking at the idiots holding their hands and crying behind me.

I can't tell just what kind of calculations are going on his head, but after what feels like a lifetime, he nods. A gesture to his people, and they stop looking at me like they want to rip out my liver and eat it. Yelena puts her gun back, and the moaning idiots are picked up by others while new ones stand in their place.

I set the guns down, turning the safeties on and tossing them to the floor. Then I reach down and put the heavies up from the floor.

"Sit." He mutters as soon as I look at him again. Pouring out a vodka into a glass, he orders "Drink."

I do as much. It's pretty good vodka, actually. Smooth.

"My people are concerned for my safety. There have been a lot of undesirable elements going around." He says, seemingly by way of explanation.

I just move past it "Hey, no hard feelings. I get what you mean." Just for added effect I smile at the two thugs, and they just about manage to kinda-sneer-smile back.

"Now, what kind of fireworks are you looking for?"

Ah. I seem to be in. Am I in? Let's see how it goes, shall we?

I put my hand into my pocket, getting everyone tensed again. Smiling, I show everyone the smartphone I've pulled out, very clearly.

"Email?" I direct this at Yelena. I mean, any idiot can tell she's playing the secretary role here.

She mutters out one of the emails I'm already tracking, the one through which these people do a lot of their arms dealing. Good thing they caught the metaphor, at least. It would have been dreadfully embarrassing if they ended up thinking I was trying to buy actual fireworks.

I send the list off immediately, having it ready beforehand. She reads through it, letting out a low whistle in the middle. Ah, I know what she read there.

She passes the phone to Jorgi, who takes over a minute to slowly make it down. He grunts here and there, but more importantly I can see the tension leave his shoulders. Anyone coming in to buy some of the things on _that_ list is pretty unlikely to be a cop of any kind, after all.

It also has the effect of getting them to take things seriously, and for good reason. The hardware on there comes around to over two million dollars, and the nature of it directly implies many more future orders. Like when I have only enough bullets on the list for each of the guns to fire maybe two clips.

"Man with gear like this could topple regime in countries not far from here" he drawls in his seemingly permanent gutter drawl.

"So they could. Would be hell of a party, too." I respond. Then I open my mouth again "We will need delivery within the week, at all costs."

He's entirely unaffected. Gotta say, that's a pretty impressive network if he can source all that in three days.

"I need half money now and half on delivery. Three point five million total, American."

"Ten percent now and the rest on delivery. And no more than two million."

Yelena speaks up here. "You must be joking. This is worth four million at the minimum! Jorgi already give you discount!"

"Two million, princess" I drawl back in a lazy drawl, getting back into familiar things now.

She drops her pretences, _finally_. "Three million." She offers, eyeing me sharply.

"Two point one" I look her straight in the eye, before dipping my eyes to her cleavage and leering quite clearly.

If she cares, she shows no sign of it. More likely she sees the gesture for what it is. "Two point nine."

Ah, the tiresome-yet-fulfilling art of haggling. I've _missed_ this.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Well? Are you going to make me ask?" we're sitting in my city penthouse this time, watching the feed from the cameras on the screen in front. Well, I say _sitting_ , but it's more of a whole 'lying on the bed with her having her head on my shoulder, still slightly damp with perspiration'. You know, the perspiration from when we… never mind. You know.

"They fell for it, of course. Hook, line and sinker. Guns and bombs, a consignment worth near about 2.5 million dollars, in total. I added a few cars to it too, about a million worth in total. Should take them a while to put it all together, more than enough time for us to get working."

"Um, Lance…"

"Don't worry about it! I'll get working tracking whatever they do getting all that pretty soon, and you'll be able to get working on rolling up their networks."

"That's not really what I'm worried about, Lance." The words are simple enough, but she's got an urgency in her tone that gets me looking. Okay, so is something wrong here? She's not ovulating, is she? Because that would be a mess. My grandfather would literally kill me. He looks like Ian McShane, he can do anything!

"Is there a problem, Martina?"

"Well, depends on how much of a problem you consider it to be to owe two million dollars to these people."

"What."

"Well, the budget specs came in while you were away. A million five is as far as they're going."

Seriously? This is supposed to be an _action movie_ universe! Gibbons is supposed to be all 'pick a number, any number' about this! Hey, that's a good line. I should use it sometime. But the NSA running short of money! In what way does that make sense in this world!

I'm aware that my face has taken on a distinctly gobsmacked look. Martina doesn't seem worried about it, though. At least she isn't showing it, considering the utter lack of concern in her tone as she says "Well, I _told_ you to wait till they sent over the requirements. You were the one going all 'this is peanuts to them'"

… I was, too. How was I to know? I mean, it's not really a _problem_ , per se. If all else fails and the nightmare scenario unfolds, I have a number I can call to have as much money as I want sent over to any place on the Earth I want. Apparently my mom set it up? Her idea of a trust. At least that was what Wilfred said the last time I was found drunk and high on top of the Sphinx. No idea how I got there, but that was rather the point of the drinks and the drugs, I suspect.

Oh, wait. I do remember how I got there. Damn perfect memory perks.

Hang on, she's staring at me. I was supposed to give her an answer, wasn't I? "Well, it _was_ supposed to be peanuts for them! This is the American government I'm talking about! And why aren't you concerned about this anyway?"

She _smirks._ I don't like it. I'm supposed to be the one who smirks. "Because, my dear, I ran a background check on you." I go still. It's hilariously unlikely… but you never really know. " Now I'll give you three guesses on who it was seen wandering across the casinos of Prague, racking up a fortune?"

Oh. Whoa, got me almost started on the road to 'worry' there.

"Well, yeah, but I don't want to spend it on _this_!"

"They'll reimburse you, won't they? And besides, what else would you spend it on?"

"Well, it's not quite a _what…"_ Never let it be said I don't know how to tell a woman what she likes to hear. And judging by the way she reacts, she seems to like hearing it a _lot_. Not that I'm complaining. She might, though. Of soreness in various regions, just to make it clear what I mean.

We do manage to get some work done, in the end. Jorgi's rules require one to commit, and be _seen_ committing, a crime they can't walk away from. Such as, oh, killing a senior member of the police, which would be by far the simplest such crime to arrange for me. So she breaks away in the middle of the day to talk up a few people to see if someone would like to be in on the plan.

In the meantime, I have a few calls to listen to, and then I join her at the station, to get an update and this 'care package' Gibbons apparently sent on. Wonder what's up with _that_. I hope it's a 'Q' moment. I would love a 'Q' moment.

It takes me several hours to get through the calls, even listening to three at once. As good as I am getting et everything, there's a limit to how well I can multitask, and unfortunately there's no way to do this faster. I tried a transcriber a couple times, but they miss too much stuff.

Most of the stuff is simple enough stuff, calling in for warehouse and reserve updates, overseeing the movement of his cargoes and resolving a number of 'organizational disputes' that have come up. But in time the talk does turn to him handing out the order I just placed with him, piecing apart the components and starting the whole sourcing process for them.

It's going to take him a while, the detailed order I gave means he needs to reach across about half a dozen borders, pay off diplomats for Letters of Intent, and the many, many tiny intricacies required to facilitate the purchase and transport of enough weapon to outfit a small army with.

With any luck, these will be the weapons I use to take him and his people out, but let's wait and watch on that front. Once I've heard everything it takes a few more minutes for me to cross-reference everything and get started on a consolidated report, with all the details I picked up and the inferences. Not something very detailed, I don't do that, but detailed enough.

Even that much is a chore. Like… detailed reports are _seriously_ not what I associate with a spy like I'm supposed to be, y'know? Though I probably should, come to think of it. Eh, we'll see. Either way, It's all worth it when I get to the police station.

It _is_ a Q moment!

Well, the guy isn't exactly a grumpy old man and the equipment is distinctly inferior to Merlin's stuff, but eh. Close enough, and it's not like I can actually get any of the good stuff Merlin makes, or what I want more, a go at his labs, unless I get this test through.

But no matter that they're not the same as Kingsman stuff, this stuff's pretty good. I let out a whistle as Martina ever-so-subtly preens while I have my brand new set of binoculars trained at her. I wonder if she knows I'm seeing her naked. Possibly, but I think it's unlikely…

Oh, wow. She just… Y'know what? She knows. Take my word for it.

Anyway, dangerously frisky Czech police girls aside, this _good_. Toby Lee Shavers. I'm going to have to remember the name later, because considering that he made _all_ of this stuff himself, Agent Shavers is a very clever, potentially very useful agent, and I like those. I mean, okay, _I_ can make all of this, probably better, but I'm cheating. And y'know, there's only one of me.

"So how many of these bandages can you get me?" I ask the man. He seems surprised.

"What, you mean you'll need more?"

"Possibly? How am I supposed to know?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. Like… how are about a dozen explosives supposed to be enough?

He shakes his head disbelievingly. "I can get you more in a couple days, I suppose. You'll need more of the bullets and darts too?"

"Oh, definitely. I'll say, you've done fantastic work on these, Agent Shavers. Field agents must love you, eh?"

Aww… he's blushing. He's actually blushing!

I am aware of the way my smile is morphing, especially when he tells me. "Okay, Agent Kruger? Your smile is getting creepy."

I just nod lightly, before taking another look at the equipment "Oh, Agent Shavers, I think we're going to have a _lot_ of fun together, you and I."

"Um… okay?"

"No Homo."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Another chapter delivered on schedule! I'm on fire! Though my jump-making's falling dangerously behind, as my collaborators…; hand on, there's only just the one right now; can attest. Oh well. I'll fix it soon enough.

I tried out a different style with this chapter, or at least parts of it. Well, I attempted to, for all I know this is how I've always been writing and I've just been too blind to see it. Anyway, tell me what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

"Another drink to our prosperity and success, my friend!" I all but yell and Jorgi, toasting him high with the bucket-like glass of Vodka.

He responds in kind, still cheery like hell. Profit does that. I just concluded my deal for firepower and cars with him. The consignment is going to a ship that will later wait for me to pick the weaponry up in a speedboat just off the coast but take the cars to a Liverpool warehouse, and the money is already in the gang's accounts.

It's a pretty successful deal, so much so that Jorgi invited me up here to celebrate, just as I knew he would. Now if we can get things in place for the next phase of the big plan…

"You must tell me my friend, what country are you taking over with my weapons?" Jorgi asks, boisterously. I would be surprised if I didn't know he's joking, but he is and I do know. No arms dealer is stupid enough to seriously ask questions like this and no buyer is stupid enough to answer.

"One day all of them, my friend!" I answer just as drunkenly.

Oh, he _likes_ that answer. I can see it in his eyes, the way they shine in delight before smoothening out. A deeply disturbed man, this one.

It's pretty much all drinking and partying from here, singing and doing some really stupid imitation of dancing and yelling and moving along. It's slightly tricky to navigate my way through the room without partaking once the syringes and powders come out, but I do manage it with a few stained sleeves and some blocked currency bills.

It's not that I don't trust myself around them, not really. I have dynamic internal control, I can actually manipulate my own internal processes to metabolize all that stuff way faster than anyone can imagine. It's just that the next stage of the plan should be coming into effect literally any moment now, and I can't really afford even the slight headiness that comes with taking in amounts of cocaine and Heroin big enough to kill small farm animals like everyone else is doing.

Sure enough, it's several hours into the celebration when I get a tap on my shoulder.

"Jorgi wants to see you, my friend." The flunky, Kolya if I remember right (I always remember right) tells me.

I follow them to a room just to the side. Jorgi is sitting straight, a tablet in his hand. That all but confirms it. If this asshole is sitting here now, all sober-like after having been singing some idiotic Russian song at the top of his voice not two minutes ago… he's cheating somehow.

I hate it when people do that. Only I can do that!

"Ah, my friend! Come, sit. I have something to show you!"

I move ahead, checking around the room for a trap just in case. There are about half a dozen possibilities for what the thing he wants to show me can be, and I can only hope that they're sufficient to get me into his demented organization. I know Inner Circle is an impossibility for now, but if I can just… let's say what he has to say, anyway.

I sit down next to him, stumbling just the right amount for the image of someone who has drunk way too much but still has iron self control.

"Well, man? What is it? Show me!"

He visibly rolls his eyes! Hey, another thing only I'm supposed to do!

Then he taps the tablet, pulling up a paused video.

Ah. It was this one that caught his attention first.

"You have been busy, my friend. Sergei got this video from one of our associates in Rijeka." He all but crows, moving the tablet towards me. He falls silent as I watch myself first talking to, trying to bribe and then killing a port inspector responsible for certain checks on outgoing ships in Rijeka.

Ah, yes. That guy is still in a safe house maintained by the NSA in Croatia, being kept incommunicado but pretty safe.

I nod just a bit. "So it is, Jorgi."

"Why did you kill this man, Lance? He could have been useful to you. And us, too."

"He was too honest. Turning him would have taken too long. His replacement is far easier to work with, too."

He smiles, laughing at some inner joke.

"Then what about this man, or this one?" he swipes to the other videos on the tablet, showing some of the other work that we planted for this exact purpose. I have to say, I'm impressed. I keep assessing this guy as just another organized crime and terrorist mastermind, but he's not. He's a genuine supervillain, and I need to get on with the program and start treating him accordingly.

"You kill at the drop of a hat. You do not respect laws or traditions. You are very loud, and rude. Are you not, Lance Kruger?"

"Your work on these people is inspiring. You got rid of all the bodies too, and so quickly!

Yeah, because you would have found out they're alive otherwise, asshole.

"Welcome to Anarchy 99!, Lance Kruger!"

Wait, what?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

So it seems seeing incontrovertible evidence and multiple testimonies of me having committed at least four murders of government and law enforcement officials is enough evidence even for Jorgi. Which is really good, because short of landing a local cop with one of those blood splatter bullets, I'm not sure what else I could have done to sell the story here.

Here I am, sitting on a desk at seven in the morning, while the rest of the castle is still asleep. And I need to get some serious retrospection in, if I'm to keep track with what my life has become and where I want to go from here.

After the whole party things the whole of his gang, with me as the newest addition, apparently, rolled into his countryside fortress, rooms and everything already picked out. The fact that rooms include 'additional' services was welcome, the fact that the girl was a sex slave bought in Albania… less so. I don't care to tell you how difficult it was to get her to agree she'd keep her mouth shut about what didn't happen in the room.

It's galling, if I'm to be totally honest. Sex slavery. Honest to god human trafficking and using them like cattle for personal gain. That's the kind of thing we're dealing with now. I knew Jorgi was big in it a while ago, but knowing intellectually that it's a thing is one matter. Having a girl who was abducted as a teenager and then trained and brainwashed perform elaborate sexual dances on my bedpost is quite another. And disturbing and rather distinctly skin-crawl inducing.

About the only thing worse is the knowledge that I'm really not going to do anything for her or the dozens of others like her in this building. It's… they're literally slaves. I would be actually, non-metaphorically _freeing slaves_. If there's any deed more cleanly better than that, I don't know it. But they just don't take priority over a vision of a world where this psychopath is allowed to wield Silent Night however he pleases.

And whatever his plan is, he's getting close. It's not anything in particular, I can just _feel_ it. It's in his eyes, in the air about him. The way he talks about the 'corrupt regimes that keep us from what is ours' and about the people and governments of the world… I'm dealing with a man who is at the _cusp_ of victory, by the looks of everything. This is not a man hedging bets or laying out plans, this is a man entering the home stretch.

And if it can _possibly_ get worse than that, I am the one who put him there. I checked my alerts on his accounts. Before he fell asleep he spent a while moving money. Specifically, my money, into several of the same shady accounts I traced back a while ago to fronts for scientists specializing in chemical weapons, WMDs and other fun stuff.

They're ex- soviet scientists, for the most part. All setup in little colleges and universities in Podunk towns, working for pittances and desperate to get the amounts they're worth. Except the cases where it's their students looking to sell their knowledge, which is, if anything, even worse. But the point it, these people are willing to sit down and dole their priceless and very lethal knowledge to just about anyone, so long as the would-be customer has plenty of money.

And right now, that's Jorgi, coming in with his bank accounts loaded with millions upon millions of dollars, not a small bit of which I provided. It's actually the second most delicate part of the whole operation with him and Anarchy 99. The bosses and colleagues of these people designed Silent Night. I'd bet my left arm they can recreate it, and easily, at that.

The only saving grace, as far as I've been able to tell, is that the required chemicals are rather rare and thus expensive. But that won't be a limiting factor now, and that leaves us with a psychopathic madman shortly about to come in possession of WMDs. Like… this was the mission all along. I _knew_ this was the mission all along. And yet it still hits as hard as ever.

But with any luck I can shut him down before he ever gets started seriously, and clear this whole gang/terrorist group up in time to get evaluated. The plan has worked so far, but there are _way_ too many moving parts. Let's see how it goes, eh?

An alert tells me someone entered the main hall, the closest security 'hub' of Jorgi's system. Oh, yeah. Last night I hooked up my phone to one of the CCTV cameras in the corridor and piggybacked it to hack into the whole security system. Everything is patched to the main computer back at base now, and I get real time alerts for everything.

It's Yelena! She's alone, moving with a very certain walk and… oh my. That's one of those high end scanners and a laptop under an arm. What the _hell_ is she doing?

Actually… a look at the other cameras tells me everyone in Jorgi's inner circle is either still asleep, outside, or engaged. Hm. No one to overhear, and I can easily take care of any security footage. Why, this might actually be an opportunity we're looking at here!

It takes me just minutes to rush out of my room into the main hall, even as I slow down before reaching it so she doesn't hear my footsteps. She's crouched over the floor now, working at… a safe? Huh. It's a safe built into the floor, pretty damn solid by the looks of it. She's running the scanner over, presumably taking detailed scans of the safe.

I can take a guess at its contents, but it's not a pleasant thought so I don't. Instead, I think I should go ahead and talk. I wait until she's done with the scans. It's only polite, after all. I'd peek at where she's uploading, but the channel's encrypted pretty well, so _that's_ not happening anytime soon.

"Well now. I was expecting a nice view when I woke up early, but not _this_ nice!" I all but yell, walking into the hall. It's okay, there's literally no one close enough to hear. How that works when this is one of the security hubs… who even knows. This is a gang, not a military organization.

But she doesn't know that, and it shows in the way she jumps almost a foot in the air. Loking at me, I see her hand going for her waist, before stopping with a distinct effort of will.

"Good idea" I say it out loud just to be sure, gesturing at her gun.

"What are you doing here? This is security area, off-limits!"

"To you too, I'm guessing. And I'm doing the same thing as you, darling." I maintain the boisterous façade, moving closer with every word. She almost shirks back, before steeling herself with an almost visible stiffening of her shoulders. I have to repeat, I'm enjoying being able to read people like this. It never seemed to work out before I got the perks that made it so easy.

"I can go anywhere I like. You are not supposed to be here. Jorgi will kill you if he find out."

"Good thing he's not going to find out, then. Let's cut the crap, Yelena. We need to talk."

She fingers her gun again. I can imagine what's going on in her head. Shady guy, having spotted her in a compromising position, it's not a very difficult calculus. But she seems steady enough, so maybe she's not jumping to conclusions.

"We have nothing to talk about. You don't get to-" and we don't have time anymore. A small chirp in my ear tells me one of the guards supposed to be at the monitors just entered the other end of the left corridor.

I rush close to Yelena, bending low as she pulls her gun out, knocking it away and disabling her with a touch. Picking her up quite literally over my shoulder, I make for the door to the right corridor, thankfully the same way my room is.

We're there in less than a minute, by which time my back is already a mass of cuts and bruises from where she's been at it with her fists and nails. I walk over to a couch against one of the walls, before plopping her down.

"Stop clawing me, woman! I'm here for the same reason you are!"

"No, stop! I'll kill you!" She half-yells, going for _my_ gun this time, on the table close to her. I catch hold of her arm, pulling it back and folding it over her chest. " _Listen_ to me. Stay still for just one moment, and I can help us both get what we need.

She's finally quiet, knowing her inability to hurt me if not agreeing to my words. She looks me in the eye, nodding slightly in an unspoken command to go on.

"I know you're FSB. Don't bother pretending, there's no one listening. But that's a good thing. I work for the Americans. Lance Kruger, NSA." I rush out as quickly as I can, seeing her get restless and fidgety at the 'FSB' part itself.

Once I tell her, she suddenly goes still, before leaning back. I let her go and step back, as she gives me a whole once-over, eyes raking across every inch of me. I can't believe she didn't do this once already, but then she'd been looking at one more playboy-gangster like so many others flying around the place. Now she's looking for a professional spy. Believe it or not, it makes a difference.

Buried as deep as she is, no one can keep up 100% vigilance all the time. It sounds good on paper, but normal human minds simply aren't designed for that. So you learn to set down a basic estimate with your first glance, with what the information you have says and the way your instincts interpret all the data they have gotten. Then you look at things, often literally, under that criteria. It's not a good or bad thing, it's just how people work. When we first met she'd had different data to work with, now she had different, and she needed to evaluate for herself whether or not the bridge between one role and the other was possible.

Apparently, her instincts tell her it _is_ possible. At the very least she doesn't start screaming at the top of her head, which I take as a very auspicious sign.

Then I continue. "Let's meet in the city. Too much risk here." I tell her in a low voice. She seems to be over her fright already, face utterly neutral.

"Agreed." Is all she says. But cameras watch every corridor. What do we say about that" she nods towards the door of the room "whole thing?"

"Taken care of" I just hold up my phone. "I'm in control of everything everyone sees and hears. Nothing was recorded after you first walked into the hall."

A smile! It' a tiny one, and goes away so fast I almost doubt that I even saw it. But I have perfect memory, so I know I did! "Thank you for that. I was going to have to get into server room after this."

Ah, so that was her plan. Not a bad one, as these things go. It was pretty unlikely in the first place that anyone would care if she walked into the hall, and the safe is a dead zone, but the stuff she was carrying could have doomed her. But it was unlikely people who pulled the shit detail of 5 in the morning would recognize the stuff, and in a place this size recording can only be checked with a lag. Unless Jorgi is hiding fifty analysts in some remote lab in Siberia, I suppose. That's what I'd do.

But if _that's_ the case then we can't do anything anyway, so no point wondering about it.

I walk back, picking up my gun just in case. She mutters the name of a hotel on her way to the door, along with something that sounds like "One in the afternoon."

"It's a date!" I yell at her back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It's not a date. She isn't even looking at me! Well, on the other hand she _is_ looking at her file in the FSB, nodding and making little noises of outrage in the middle – just as expected.

The hotel turns out to be a pretty ritzy place in the middle of Prague, the kind of place where the Maitr'd raises eyebrows at your dress and the wine is served by actual sommeliers. In a curious twist _I'm_ dressed for this kind of place, because really, I'm always dressed for every kind of place. She, on the other hand, seems to prefer gym outfits for fancy restaurants.

Tight ponytail, sleeveless top, all that. Looks good, I'll give her that much. And coming here dressed for gym does indicate good things about her state of mind – Rebellious. Which is only getting fanned further as she reads her file, I can tell.

I let my mind wander while she goes through a medley of expressions seeing what her superiors have said about her. So I'm in Anarchy 99 now, but I'm just a member the leader decided to add one day.

I can't expect to have real access of any kind anytime soon, and I can't take too long with this. I've already here for four days, these things aren't supposed to last longer than ten or so. But that's where Yelena comes in. _She,_ has been in place for literal _years_ now. She's practically Jorgi's secretary in his operations. She should have all the built-up trust an operation like this takes.

Funny thing about that. People say that you can lose years' worth of trust in moments, but it doesn't actually work that way. The human mind is used to patterns, habits. And 'trust' is nothing more than a habit of believing someone. It doesn't go away quite that easily. It might appear to, but the mind keeps trying to revert to comfortable territory. That's where second thoughts come from.

So between the two of us, it should be a hell of a lot easier to get answers to the questions that still remain. The biggest of which is what the hell is Jorgi's delivery mechanism here?

It's not exactly _easy_ in today's day and age to successfully use chemical weapons in the quantities that his purchase records indicate he's planning to. With his access and network he could sneak them into the great metropolises of Europe, but even so, actually using them in a way that would make sense for him…

Okay, so this is how it's supposed to work. You get a super weapon. You set it off somewhere as a demonstration of what you have and how long your reach with it is. And then you make your demands to the world's governments, who in this world have a choice between acquiescing, or as is much more common, sending in someone like me. Both, if they're intelligent.

So the most you need is one big bomb loaded up with the chemical, maybe two at worst. But Jorgi has, as of ten minutes ago, dispensed enough money to but the chemicals and supplies _gallons_ of the stuff. I mean, I can't be completely certain without the formula, but that's what it looks like. I do wish I could have taken a look at the formula, too. But the Russians apparently destroyed the online records a while back in some disarmament process.

Yeah, that one was a surprise to me too, in more ways than one. But people apparently actually _fulfill_ requirements of disarmament treaties in this world, even Russians!

Speaking of which, she just looked up from the laptop.

"I have needs you'll fulfill before I work with you."

Okay, I can't resist. "Oh, for sure, lady. I'll fulfill _all_ your needs."

To my surprise, she doesn't even slap me. Instead, she rolls her eyes like I'm a child. Then she looks me right in the eye, and winks. "Maybe, once we get out of this."

Oh ho ho. Still got it. Not that I ever doubted myself.

"So we need to find out just how Jorgi's planning to move his chemicals. Er, you read the bits about Silent Night on there, right?"

"Da. We are, as you say it, on the same page."

Oh, we so are not, princess. But I don't say that out loud. "Good. Well, then. What's your plan here? Do you have anyone you've turned?"

She raises an eyebrow at me, before leaning back slightly.

"Not so fast, Kruger. Let's talk about the things I need. I want asylum in America, citizenship and immunity from prosecution."

I almost roll my eyes. Because of course she does. Well, it won't be any issue, if I know the NSA. And I know the NSA.

"Done." Is all I say.

"Are you sure you can promise all that so easily?"

"Well, it depends on what you can do for me and my employers, really."

"What do you need?"

Okay, then. Moment of truth. I have no reason to doubt my evaluation of Yelena so far, but still, there's a hint of uncertainty that I relish as I lean in and start. "So Jorgi seems to have a plan…

XXXXXXXXXXXX

I'm looking to finish off this arc in another couple of chapters. Sorry for the delay, folks, I'm releasing a jump every day these days for my end-of-year streak. Things should speed up in 2019.

Don't forget to tell me everything you liked, disliked, or felt ambivalent about!


	8. Chapter 8

I look at the scientists one last time, smoking away at their cigars. Still no indication they've got any idea of my presence. It's amazing, really. You _read_ about it in books and see it in shows and scoff, but really, man, people _do not_ look up. Like, ever.

Yelena sent me the confirmation an hour ago that she'd inveigled her way into getting Jorgi to show her just what was going on in the basement. I was in the city, seeing as I had had _no bloody idea_ it would be this easy to do it of course, so it took me this long to make it here. Just in time, too.

I caught them just as they were going down a locked room at the back of the fortress near the parking, looking to all the world like a tool shed for car repair tools, the kind everyone has in their garages. There was a guard there, but c'mon. I'm _me_. I followed Yelena and the others in quickly enough, down the tunnels that led to the hall they entered like thirty seconds ago.

And let me talk about that some. I don't know how, but can I just say: IT'S A TRAP!

Like, he doesn't let her into the inner circle of his group for literal _years_. He dangles it near her, entices her with it, but never actually does it. It's pretty clear, he doesn't trust her, not _really._ Considering his connections back in Russia and her status with her agency, it's disturbingly possible that he might very well know just who and what she is, down to her file number. It's unlikely as hell, considering that she's, y'know, _alive_ , but it's possible.

And then she insists one day, and he lets her in. I suppose it's possible that he was getting close anyway and it was just a situation of her getting the nerve to ask… but I just can't convince myself.

Hence the full ninja-gear and the creeping on the ceiling. Between the not-stellar lighting, the color of the roof and the general capability level of these gorillas, I'm as secure as anyone sneaking into a mass-murdering psychopath's fortress to foil his ambitions can be.

Which brings me to my actual _problem_. Or rather, _problems_. Because the people on top of whom I'm hanging currently are scientists. And not, as one might have imagined from my previous monitoring of the group and their operations, chemical scientists. One of them is, complete with hazmat suit covering every inch of him, but the other… I've seen him before. He's ex soviet, a student of one of the foremost experts of their military academy.

Thing is, he's a _radar_ scientist, His teacher's last project had been in Russian Submarine development, in designing the devices, coating and plating needed to make the nuclear submarines the politburo wanted floating near New York and LA utterly invisible to detection systems. For him to be here, and working with these guys…

Well, I'm here to find just that out, aren't I?

I notice a sub-tunnel going down a few feet to the right. This should lead to a shared wall with the inner chamber. Usually spectacularly useless even to a ninja, but not with what I have now. Thank you Shavers!

It takes me just a minute to sneak down and get the binoculars trained on the inside of the hall, peering through the wall outright. I set it to start recording immediately, taking a good look.

And… ah. I see it, now.

The next several minutes pass quickly, as I observe every section of the hall. I see the submarines, one in the middle and five others laid out in the extended area ahead. I see the dozens of missiles being loaded into each of them.

I see the designers being taken away, presumably to locked rooms where they'll have no shortage of anything other than chances to go out or contact anyone on the outside. And then I see the chemical scientists, murdered to a man.

Of course. The mechanical work, once done, is done. The designers of the submarines can't do anything now that they have been built. But the people who mixed the chemical weapon might be able to help others design a counter.

Holy _shit_. This… this is big. A quick calculation gives us thirty-six missiles loaded with the deadliest chemical weapon currently known, and each of those is a city-killer at _minimum._ And he intends to use them. He intends to have _three dozen_ cities die in choking, crying wails of the dead, and let the nations of the world drown each other in blood trying to figure out who did it.

Bloody motherfucking hell.

Okay, then. Time to take the gloves off. I… I wonder if I need to let Merlin know. This isn't a training mission anymore. This is serious. If any of these get off, the world will have problems _much_ bigger than me not making Lancelot.

Except… is it?

It might be my origin in a world where schemes like this never stood up to sense, but I just…

I need to think about this. This _can't_ be real. It's not a matter of goodness of people or their innate humanity or whatever. This… _no_ _one_ can hope to ride the wave of madness this would let loose, not even Jorgi. And that's if it works. If it fails, Osama will look like the favorite grandchild of the west, the way Jorgi will be hunted down.

Speaking of making it work, even that doesn't make sense. Nations have protocols, rules for this exact scenario. They'll… _will_ they stand up to public crowds throughout the world braying for blood?

I… I need to digest this. Preferably with a full report from Yelena to ensure that what I've learned is what he actually told her and it wasn't something gibbons planted in these binoculars or something. I'm grasping at straws here, I can tell.

But… I need to.

I mean _what the fuck._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"He's totally mad. He wants to destroy the world!" Yelena rushes out seconds after stepping into my room. I check the screens one last time, just to make sure she wasn't followed. It's less than an hour since we saw the massacre and I left. She must have broken every speed limit out there.

"I know. I saw it too, remember? I left just after he killed those scientists, the cleanup crew was going to see me. Tell me, did he say something after that?"

She shakes her head, eyes still just a bit wide in that was only deeply disturbing news can do. "After the hall got cleaned up he had dinner arranged there. Right there in the place, between the submarines. Then he told us it was all ready and only the other preparations needed to be completed."

I can feel myself going still as certain dots are connected in a single instant in my head. I doesn't probably look obvious at first glance, but the brain makes strange connections, especially mine. It's the talk of 'other preparations' that does it. All of a sudden, a number of roaming, wandering factoids and thoughts that had been percolating in the back of my head line up in a concise idea.

I remember something I'd made note of back when I'd just been staring this, several days ago now. Jorgi has been making some rather weird purchases for the past several months. He'd been stocking up in a major ways, on items ranging from high-grade weaponry to everything from blankets to seeds and saplings.

Normally none of it made sense for the time, but now… He's a doomsday prepper. Except one who intends to bloody well bring about the doomsday himself, but still. And man, going by those manifests, he's prepared _well_. He has enough weapons to outfit a good-sized army, and enough food and supplies to feed a full sized one.

I'd be willing to bet he has the counter-agent for the toxin too. So once the world is devastated between the Silent Night and the Nuclear War he intends for it to trigger, he can emerge from whatever hole he jumps in, set and ready to rule the ashes.

She's right. He's _totally mad._

And other people need to know.

"Listen, Yelena. Good work. Very good work tonight. We will be able to take them down once and for all, now. But before we do anything, I need to relay this back.

"Yes, yes of course. You haven't done that already?"

"Satellite wasn't in position until a few minutes ago." The lie is smooth from my lips. Truth be told, I'd waited because I needed to put together my final report to Kingsman first, and that took a while to draft. I also needed to attach the clip of her voice that I recorded just a moment ago, to tick the 'I charmed a female member of the organization into helping me' box.

No one ever said that it would help, but let's be honest. They're trying to train 007 agents, only privatized. This is what I'm supposed to _do_ here.

But now my report _is_ finished, and I'll be sending it along as soon as the mission is done. Which needs to be _right the fuck now_. Delaying an update to Fort Meade by an hour so I can score additional style points is one thing. Delaying the _neutralization of the coming apocalypse_ for them would be rather unsporting, I fear.

No. The time for worrying about what Kingsman thinks is past. I need to talk to Gibbons and get myself squared on that side of things, and then I need to roll this whole mess up once and for all.

… except it's not quite that simple, is it? Another couple of stray thoughts connect, the conclusion almost physically forcing me into stillness.

I've been so busy calling him insane for this plan that I've ignored a fact. This plan _is_ insane. As in, it has virtually no chance of success. Despite what people might believe, nation-states are smarter actors than that. They won't start tossing about nukes willy-nilly, no matter if the public is crying out for it or not.

No… let's look at the list here. I managed to step into the room once the deed was done, thanks to being able to walk through walls and all, and planted a bug on one of the subs.

It was about all I had time to do, before the cleanup crews started swarming all over the place, but it was all I needed to. The transmitter patched into the sub's systems and game me an uplink here, and I set my systems on exploring the inner systems of the subs. The results should be showing up right about… now, actually.

With any luck the nav systems will still be connected to Jorgi's own systems, and the hard link will let me _finally_ get a look at his air-gapped servers. Well, air-gapped except for the connection to the subs, and not even that anymore. But you get what I mean. They're kept under layers upon layers of locked rooms somewhere in his fortress, I didn't exactly have the time to have a good look-see where.

But… no. I check the screen. It's still decrypting the content it's connected to. Oh well. This means it's one of the thornier ciphers, the kind he must've bought from some government instead of a 'black' group somewhere on the dark web. It'll take a while to get useful data, I suspect. I mean, I only connected it like a minute before Yelena arrived, once I was done with my report. So I can wait.

Thankfully, all that happened in just a few seconds. Yelena is still looking at the other laptop lying on the other side of the bed, the one still displaying the contents of the hall with the submarines. She shudders just a tad as the memory hits her again. I can sympathize. It was pretty ugly stuff, what Jorgi did.

But no point lingering on it. "If you could step aside, darling?" I drawl out at Yelena, in a tone aimed to get her defensive and angry. That way she gets something else to think about. Too bad she doesn't take the bait, just stepping aside for me to get at the computer.

In a few minutes I have the encryption up and going, and another minute or so after that the black screen blinks apart to reveal the feed from the Puzzle Palace. A black face half burnt to hell stares me in the eye, waiting silently.

Well, if there's any silver lining to this, seeing the reaction to all this from Samuel L. Jackson's analogue in this world should be amusing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As the call ends and the screen goes blank… It wasn't, really. Amusing, I mean. Turns out mass-deaths as a topic tend to leech away even my sense of humor, let alone Gibbons'. I start up the calculations in my head. It took me about ten minutes to send over everything and for him to take a look and give me whatever he had. Not much of anything, really, just some ID's for components of the subs.

Most of what makes them work is still a black box, and that's another thing I'll need to fix now. Technology like this, that can get through the very extensive, very advanced sensor nets of the various nations at work in today's world is _dangerous_. It needs to be studied and understood, and hopefully replicated and reverse-engineered.

But Gibbons did confirm one suspicion I'd just as soon have gone without confirming. Specifically, the craziness of Jorgi's plan, or lack thereof. It's not enough to kill metropolises of various nations to trigger WWIII like he wants. It'll take an actual nation-state to start things off with tossing about the Big Firecrackers, and when it comes to them… there's two major options.

North Korea could be it, certainly, considering the fat pig and his maniacal tendencies. But there's a nuclear armed nation not that far from here, into the military of which Jorgi has disturbingly extensive connections.

No… I need to take that bastard alive now. At least, for a short while. The question is simple. Is the guy he was going to use to set off the nukes, almost certainly a high level General, a sub captain, or an operator in one of the Russian installations, a willing participant? That is, did a nation state actually end up employing a card carrying member of Anarchy 99? Or is he a puppet of some kind, someone Jorgi is sure can be convinced that the state really _was_ just attacked.

I'm not entirely certain it's Russia, of course, but it's by far the most likely option. And whoever it is either needs a pink slip in their hands or a bullet in their head, _yesterday._ Which means picking Jorgi up; I don't think any of the others can be expected to know the name, and working him until he spits it out.

It would be better if I could work at him more slowly, get him to slip and blurt out the name, but with the subs ready to go… yeah, that's not going to happen.

I look at Yelena, sitting in the corner all quiet-like. Gibbons had dropped the old 'I don't have the authority' line, which in spook-speak translates into 'are you really sure she's worth it'? I'd responded 'yes' in the same speak, and that had been that. Unfortunately, she's a _really_ bad spy.

I walk after her as she steps out of the room, heading to the balcony. I don't much care to imagine just what's going on in her head, but it can't be good. I catch up to her just as she reaches the outside. She turns just as I approach.

"Don't worry, he'll do it in the end. And worst come to worst, there are other ways. I'll get you into the west. Wherever you want."

She doesn't seem convinced, but I can see it that she's actively trying to _make_ herself believe me. It's a pity that she doesn't need to, but what can I even begin to do about that? I could make a call to London that would set off a different call followed by emails shifting around in the Foreign Ministry servers until she gets full citizenship by the morning in a few hours.

And then I'd be out of the running for Lancelot entirely, with no hope of returning. Like, whoa, _ever._ The guy who cried 'daddy'. Worse is, it'd be accurate. Well, 'grandpa', strictly speaking, but the point remains.

But it's a null point. Gibbons is a Deputy Director of the NSA. He can make it happen possibly even quicker than Wilfred can. I just need to ensure she doesn't get too upset to act. And there's a much more important question to be answered.

"Yelena, when is Jorgi launching? You said he had preparations he needs to complete. I have some idea of those, but when is he actually launching?"

She furrows her eyebrows, trying to remember. Then she shakes her head. "He didn't say. He said it would be surprise. Twisted fuck."

I nod at the last bit, before considering the rest. Either a genuine desire to maintain surprise, or he doesn't trust her or his people, or some combination thereof. It's something to note, but not really interesting.

"Well, you've done your part, at least. I'll get you away from here for the time being, before my people get things sorted out with the government and arrive in force."

She shakes her head, all angry-like. "No! I'll stay here. We work together!"

… well, I know a lost battle when I see one. I don't answer, simply turning out to the city ahead of us. In the near future this could all be a graveyard. I imagine it for a moment. The gas rushing through the streets, killing everything it touches. Some of those it touches survive and rush into shelters, where secondary effects trigger and kill everyone they're hiding with.

This repeats, over and over, until the city of the Holy Roman Emperors is a metropolis of the dead, Jorgi's kingdom of ruin and chaos made manifest under a sky flashing with nuclear weapons on their courses to end civilization. Yeah… I'd want to stick around and see what I could do, too.

This girl isn't getting convinced of the risk here anytime soon. That said, there _is_ an option I can get rolling pretty soon. It'll need me to contact Shavers and the Czech Police, but that's something I should do all the same.

Mind made up, I turn back to her, only to notice a look on her face.

Okay, so look. There's things I just _know_. It might be something unique to me, it might not, but it happens. And one of them is a certain brand of moods and attitudes of people of the female persuasion. It can be triggered by many things, mostly by the effect of certain perks I have at minimum capacity right now so Yelena could focus on work. But mortal fear of life and utter helplessness trigger everyone differently.

For me it's an attempt to put a brave face on it, try and shrug it off, and then desperately distract myself with something else. For others it's decidedly more 'physical'. Look, let's just go with the idea that I knew exactly what she was going to do next when she started with "You remember when we were talking about 'needs', and I told you after all this is over?"

"Yes" I say for the sake of it. There are things that need doing, but nothing that urgent, in this moment.

"I lied".

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She walks up to me in a rush, leaning in an capturing my lips in a kiss. I feel the desperate _need_ of it immediately, the way her tongue descends into a battle with mine, the sheer searing _heat_ of it sending pleasurable jolts through me. I take her in an embrace, one hand holding her head tight just as she holds onto mine, the other starting on it's course across her back.

I let every carnal perk I have back to full strength in an instant, enjoying the way she gasps as everything I've been suppressing reemerges in an instant. She breaks the kiss, sucking in a huge breath and letting most of out a moan as I twinge a certain nerve cluster where her back ends and her ass begins. I interrupt it midway with another kiss, my hands moving to her thighs before I pick her up in my arms.

She grunts as I almost _run_ to the wall ahead of us, her back impacting it hard enough to make a noise. I let her down now, hands moving to her front. I rip her top apart with a move that makes the buttons of her coat go fly everywhere.

I start kneading and mauling her breasts, even as the nipples harden in the cold air and under my ministrations. They're a fantastic set, just about the perfect size to fit in my hands. It gives me a lot of pride, the way she moans and twitches with every little pinch and twinge, as I find every sweet spot she has.

Breaking the kiss, I descend down her body, hands working quickly on her jeans even as I capture one of her nipples in my lips. Pushing the jeans down once open, I push her panties aside, plunging two fingers past her swollen nether lips straight into the wet depths of her tunnel. I luxuriate in the sheer tightness of it, starting to fiercely move my fingers inside her, hitting all the spots I know are there.

At the same time, I let my spectral hands loose, enjoying the way Yelena's eyes pop open for just an instant as all of a sudden the invisible hands invade her ass, kneading and plundering the flesh just as a third pokes a finger inside her ass. She opens her mouth, seemingly trying to form words, before I speed up the way my fingers are twitching inside her pussy, while at the same time I get her nipple between my teeth, rolling my tongue across it and my other hand finds a sweet spot on her back.

The triple assault does the trick. Her words instead transform into a loud, keening scream of pleasure as she cums hard, gushing all around my fingers. I keep going right through her orgasm, instead speeding up my ministrations, pushing her onto a sustained high even as I dispel my invisible limbs.

Eventually I do stop, pulling her back and laying her on the ground right on top of her coat, as I descend with my lips to her pussy.

I reach out at the same time, one hand resuming the playing with her breasts, while the other charts a way across her body, leaving a trail of her own essence on her before it ends up on her lips. She opens wide at my touch, capturing my fingers in her lips and thoroughly licking her own essence off them. It turns into a loud moan halfway through, as I start making my way into her second orgasm.

I can feel myself rising too, harder now with sheer anticipation. I work with everything I have on her body, keying it up furiously towards a crescendo. I lose my own jeans just in time, entering her _hard_ just as her second orgasm triggers.

I piston my way in and out of her, enjoying the way her incredibly tight tunnel moulds to every contour of my cock. She's gasping hard now, screaming about me with everything she has, while I keep going at her.

We fuck for what feels like hours, pushing her through half a dozen orgasm as I fuck her all the way from the balcony into the bedroom, stopping briefly at every surface in the middle. The last spot is the door to the bedroom, where I turn her around and claim her ass for the first time, using her own fluids as lubricants.

I lean down and kiss her hard just as she lets out a scream partially of pain and of pleasure, grunting at the way she claws my back, before the added sensations come close to driving her insensate. I'm close myself, too. Her ass is a vice-tight tunnel clamped around my cock, greedily holding on to every inch of it and resisting every time I come close to pulling out.

I can feel my own release building inside, but I tamp down on it, continuing to ride her high. She buckles and twists wildly at her quickly approaching seventh orgasm, giving my cock an exquisite roller-coaster ride inside as she writes in pleasure. I pick her off the door, raising her off my cock in a quick motion. She surprises me by turning around, hooking her arms around my neck and impaling herself back on it, deeper in her ass than ever.

We move it to the bed then, me walking over with her legs clamped around my waist arms around my neck as I plunder her anal depths to all abandon. It ends with her staining the sheets with the force of her seventh orgasm, and I'm pleasantly surprised when she doesn't actually go insensate this time, instead rising from the bed, walking around and almost physically turning me around with surprising strength.

Then she descends to her knees, and it's even more of a pleasant surprise. He pussy, her ass, all fail to compare to the blowjob Yelena lays out on my cock, working on it with skill I've only ever seen before in professionals. He tongue darts around my cock, teasing every vein, her lips sucking hard at my tip one moment and her throat relaxing to welcome it another.

When she does the last bit it's the end for me, her fingers digging into my waist as she impales her throat on me and starting an amazing twist motion that has me exploding deep within her gullet. She takes in every drop, moving so only my tip is inside her after the first few seconds.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As I lean back on the bed after the… huh? Only a couple hours long session? Sure _seemed_ longer. I mean, I know the expression, but it has never been quite _this_ true for me before.

Anyway, I suppose it's just the way these things world in this world that the computer on the other side of the room lets out it's 'trill' at this moment. So that's the decryption done, then. But it took _way_ too long for what was supposed to be a minor level of encryption.

Unless… it wasn't minor.

I don't so much as get off the bed as I leap off of it, rushing to the computer. Looking at it, the bug I planted on the submarine was indeed connected to Jorgi's isolated systems, and everything on it, every scrap of data to the last kilobyte was encrypted with a combination of several separate keys.

And it's worth it. This isn't just the list of targets, though I do see it, and seeing Mumbai and Kolkata on it still gives an unfair lurch. I'm not there anymore, I shouldn't care. But dammit, I do. Other than those are the usual suspects. New York, LA, London… Paris? Right, the subs traverse rivers.

But the list, important as it is, is practically irrelevant compared to everything else on here. This… this is everything! I see names and government posts. Account numbers and addresses, complete with coordinates. And photos. There are a _lot_ of photos.

Huh. I look back at the bed with just a bit of longing. Well, I've been sleeping pretty decently these last few days, and that was preparation for exactly this moment.

It takes me a while to get through the data, reading and analyzing everything. The subroutines that my bug implanted in the sub's systems downloaded and sent _all_ the data on Jorgi's systems, and that includes every picture and video, but he isn't some spy or reporter that needs to write things down. The files on various people are records for blackmailing purposes, as these names are there along with various bits of evidence that would destroy any of them. I fully expect there to be more he simply never felt the need to type up anywhere.

Such as whether or not he knows about Yelena. It does seem pretty unlikely, considering that there are no FSB officers on here, but again, the same rules apply. But focusing on what isn't in the files isn't helpful, where digesting what _is_ there is. I find the source of the blueprints for Jorgi's super-subs, buried in a file pertaining to his earliest days after starting preparations for his plans.

It appears Jorgi was quite the addict at the time, enjoying life first as the son of a powerful KGB General later turned mighty Oligarch. Jorgi had been a rising star himself in the KGB, climbing high under his father's patronage. All that had turned into naked hedonism when the iron rules fell away and the umbrella of terrifying power was replaced by that of obscene wealth.

And when _that_ went away after his father died, Jorgi had been at an all time low. All this I'd found out through my own investigations into the man, days ago. What this file reveals is that he was approached by someone, who took his half-insane ramblings and turned them into a real _plan._ Someone took note of the fact that he'd taken the Silent Night formula from the only lab it had been worked on, taking advantage of his KGB-assigned position as Head of Security.

He had been guided, led to his conclusions about Anarchy and the world through a trail of breadcrumbs, breadcrumbs I'm looking at right now. From there he'd grown into the man he is today himself, using an excellent brain for the first time, and building a group that's one of the most powerful gangs in Europe today.

And as for who it was… there's no mention. They reached out through all kind of shadowy means that can only be taken seriously in this world, through coded messages, strange pictures that he needed to understand the meanings of, and all kind of equally bizarre means I don't much care to dwell on. But never had they been seen… except once, and then barely.

Jorgi had secured a meeting with his benefactor as one of the last sessions of his being 'helped'. He'd managed to place a camera at the right spot before the actual meeting, and the camera had caught a picture.

It wasn't a good one. For all his professionalism the person had realized something was going on from Jorgi's body language, and dodged accordingly. All that was caught in the image was Jorgi himself… and an arm. An arm on his shoulder, gently nudging him along.

Looking at the metadata of the picture Jorgi has obsessed on it long and hard, analyzing every pixel of the hand in detail. Most of it is unremarkable, except for a ring. It's a wide, plain metallic band, with no stones, and just a symbol on one side. The note, one of the only few Jorgi has ever made in hundreds of pictures, says the symbol is typically kept pointing down but the guide had turned his ring to show it to a door-lock system.

I wonder if I would have recognized the sign if I didn't agree to seal away my memories of the franchises this world draws from. It's a kind of snake's head, with the snarling, wide open mouth at the top and two thick lines denoting the side frills forming an oval, but trailing off into tails before meeting at the bottom. On the inside of the thick lines are horizontal bars, indicating scales.

This looks like a pretty distinctive sign, but I have absolutely no recognition. Comes with signing your memories away, I guess. But all the same, this is alarming. If someone provided him the plans for submarines undetectable to all sensors a decade more advanced than when they provided them, and they did so in order to help along a plan like this… dammit.

I hate secret societies.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Damn, this was supposed to be the last chapter for the xXx stuff, but it kept growing. I'll tie it off in the next one. But this is the first real hint at the overarching plot for this jump and the one franchise that ties most of the rest together, so it looks like a good spot to take a break.

Tell me what y'all think!


	9. Chapter 9

Y'know, there's a reason why I haven't already tossed Jorgi and his whole crew down an open window. Or to be more accurate, there _was_. I didn't know just where Jorgi is getting all this technology, the scope of his networks and his resources, all those little things.

Taking him in alive had been a need, to get the boys back at HQ time to work him over and tear all those secrets out of him, possibly literally. Now, though… now it turns out he was stupid enough to keep all that on a computer.

Okay, so it was an air-gapped computer, meaning that neither it nor any other computer it was linked do had ever been connected to any other network. That sort of thing is usually a fool-proof means to ensure data secrecy. I mean, even the greatest hacker can't get into a network that's physically not connected to a terminal.

Until it was. And now… now I have the lot. I'd be more suspicious of this, but I already tapped back into the servers of the NSA, FBI and most of the alphabet soup agencies across the world, and putting together the pieces from all of them… over ninety-seven percent of the data collected from Jorgi's systems has been independently verified not once, not twice, but three times.

So… yeah. I'd say I'm done here. This was a nice little mission, and altogether a pleasant experience, especially considering Martina and Yelena, but it's time I blew this joint.

Which, at the end, brings me here. I'm back at the submarine chamber, looking at the cooling corpses of Jorgi's brother and their friends. I snuck in and killed them about five minutes ago, most deliberately _not_ concealing myself. And that was because of…

"No, Dmitri, Kolya! You, American! You'll pay for this!"

This.

Here's Jorgi, running blind and screaming his head off, followed by most, if not all of the guards in the complex. They take up positions just as they come inside, moving smoothly into practiced locations and starting a rain of bullets that has me ducking behind the sub I just finished 'working on'.

Except… why? I send the query down in my memory, to no answer whatsoever. I have the perks needed, it's just… there's a psychological aspect to walking into a set of guns spitting lead at you that I haven't yet perfected. Well, no time like the present to try. I step out and walk right into the rain, letting them rake me across my chest with automatic fire, over and over.

And I… damn. They ruined my shirt! A $900 silk shirt! I _liked_ this one, it was comfy!

 _Anyway,_ you'd be surprised what kind of stuff impossibly powerful and bored benefactors will give you if you do magic tricks for them for a decade. A complete immunity to all cutting and piercing damage, as it turns out, does actually have uses beyond the stage. Who'd have thought?

I do feel the _impacts,_ mind, and they're bad enough to _really hurt goddamit!_ But come on, don't tell me _you_ wouldn't be willing to take the equivalent of several dozen punches to the old sunny plexus if you looked _this_ cool doing it.

Sure enough, the expressions on their faces… I'm really glad for my perfect memory, because otherwise the sheer hilarity of the moment could have been lost! They stare at me, jaws descending almost as one. Even Jorgi's staring, looking back and forth between his gun and me.

And then I _move_. An instant after everyone sees me take on bullets and react as if they constituted a light drizzle, I teleport to the door, catching the ones standing there and tossing them in. A look at my back tells me there's none of them standing around here. Looking in, yes, that _does_ look like all of them, or at least most of them.

Well then, time to get this done. Pulling out my phone, I tap a few icons on the screen. At the back of the room, one of the Silent Night missiles starts rising, the inner walls disappearing to let the lethal mixture come together.

I kick the first man to reach the door in the chest, tossing him into the second and third ones. And now the door is already closing, thanks to a quick touch on the panel beside it. Jorgi fires nearly a whole round of bullets at me even as the door closes, which passes right through me and peppers the wall behind instead.

Once the door is closed, I see him staring at me, taking several steps ahead before one of his flunkies, having been looking around, gets his attention and points out the rocket. And then I see panic. Like most all criminals and terrorists all too happy to deal out death and pain by the buckets, Jorgi is a coward at heart. I'd figured that much out shortly after meeting him, but damn if it doesn't feel nice to see it in action.

Distantly, I'm dimly aware of the sirens as Martina's police pulls in at the castle, ready to take everything and everyone in custody. Too bad they were too late to prevent this drunken testing, but you really shouldn't be so careless with WMDs, y'know.

I watch it to the end, when Jorgi finals collapses, hate still burning in his eyes, his swollen, twisted face right next to the severely distorted glass where he emptied all the clips of every gun he and his men were carrying. I got concerned about that towards the end, the way he was keeping his fire focused at that one, specific spot with everything he had for over a minute.

But in the end the glass held, and I didn't have to see if I could be any more resistant to the super-weapon than so many others. And now he's dead. His fortress is occupied, his slaves are being freed, and his money… I check my phone. Right, his money, stocks, assets et al are all in a number of accounts established days ago. I think I'll give everything to Kingsman, but let's see.

I switch on the draining pumps before I go.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"An anarchist-terrorist? Really? All I got was a drug kingpin." Eggsy is pouting.

"You also got done with him in what, a day or two? Took me a whole week."

"Still better than Roxy. She got a Bedouin arms dealer. Been trying to get sand out of places for two days now, from what I hear."

As the crowd erupts in laughter, I walk back to the adjacent room, no really in the mood. As I'd pretty much expected, me Eggsy and Roxy seem to be the final candidates here, though some of the others have interesting stories too. But there's a pretty distinct demarcation of the difficulty level of the objectives assigned to us and the others, and it serves as good a mark of which of the tests were 'serious' as any other.

I mean, technically, of course, we're all at equal footing, we're 'all stellar candidates' and Kingsman has great hopes, so on and so forth. But in reality, you can usually tell who is a serious contender and who's a joke.

Speaking of jokes…

I plaster a fake smile on my face, to match the one on the girl walking up to me. She's pretty decent looking, as these things go, all symmetrical face and shiny hair and shit. Too bad she's a grade-a bitch underneath all that, and a coward too boot. Jumped a foot in our first Artillery Walk, and started hiding out in the ones after that.

And yes, Artillery Walks are exactly what they sound like. I still don't know how 'real', but they're a thing.

"Hey Eddie. I heard you were back. But I'm surprised to see you here, I'd have thought you would be with Roxy, helping her get sand out of 'places'.

… okay, what's up with this? I ignore the bitchy whining entirely, which is already a favor to this little… nevermind. She _still_ hasn't gotten over me moving on from her. But this thing with Roxy and sand, there's gotta be a story there. I wonder if I can find out…

"Of course not, Sophia. That would be incredibly inappropriate. How can you even _imagine_ me doing a thing like that?" I murmur out, in the middle of considering options to find out just what's going on with Roxy. Not that she can tell. I said it after leaning into her personal space and all but kissing her, you see.

She goggles at me for a second, before rolling her eyes and walking on. I get off the high chair myself, pinching her ass on my way out of the room. She stops dead and turns around in a whirl, but I'm already at the door, and out even as she opens her mouth to yell. It wasn't a very big room.

But all plans to see Roxy and find out about her 'sand' story fall right out of my head as I catch sight of Merlin coming up in the corridor. I turn and look Sophia in the eye, shutting down her angry yell simply my mouthing 'Merlin!' at her.

It's a well-practiced drill, driven by that ancient, primordial instinct that drives students all across the world against their instructors. She turns and runs into the other room, and I hear the telltale flurry of a great many people rushing about to put a big room in order. I join in after a few seconds, putting a few papers where someone had been displaying their adventures with the harem of the Uzbek sheikh that they'd been assigned. He'd been funding a number of rogue militias and terrorist groups to stir up interest and then be the only contractor willing to take jobs in 'disturbed' areas.

I sit down just as Merlin walks in, a tablet ready in his hands. A couple seconds after him Roxy rushes into the room, sitting down at a distant chair. I raise an eyebrow at her, to which she winks.

And really, that's all the communication we really need.

"So, people! You've all completed your field tests. A few of you even succeeded, and even the ones who didn't managed to survive and actually think that you had succeeded! I would be angry at the level of stupidity involved, but considering it means I don't have to break the news to your parents that their child was and died a hopeless moron, it all cancels out."

And that sets the tone of the whole session. Ah, I've missed Merlin.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"IS KINGSMAN WORTH DYING FOR, EDDIE?"

"Oh fuck you and the horse you rode here on." I drawl back, unimpressed. It would probably be a lot more scary to someone who _hadn't_ been told the test details in advance, but I'm a Montague. Henry Montague signed up with Harold II of England and then turned on him when William came, founding the family's first estates off of the rewards for the betrayal. If I'm not cheating, I'm being a shame to my family name.

As the train thunders ahead towards me, there _is_ some primordial instinct of the monkey-brain that identifies the huge mass of metal and noise as certain death, but y'know, we aren't monkeys anymore. Or at least, I'm not. I keep my powers ready all the same, just in case. For all I know someone got into Kingsman and is using this fake test as a chance to really kill of prospective graduates.

But I suppose that would be just a bit too much drama even for this world. Just as the engine reaches me, I stare at my 'captor' dead in the eye and smirk as the section of the track I'm bound to starts descending. Knew it. New rails are extending above me to let the train go on. I mean, this is _stupid_ levels of cliché. Does anyone actually get eliminated in this stage, even?

… apparently they do.

It's twenty minutes after I got released and brought in to view the remaining trials, and I stare, disbelief growing, as someone I'd come to like over the last few months bawls his head off and screams the name 'Chester King' to the people holding him. I'm… it's… this doesn't make sense. _How_ is this possible?

No, I do think this will bear investigating. Charlie has forfeited any kind of membership even in the auxiliary teams, pardon, 'tables', with this stunt. I'll… I'll catch up to him and figure out what happened.

But that'll have to come later. As much as I would like to consider just what makes a man like Charlie do something this stupid, there are other things to do right now. I more jump than stand up as Tristan enters the room, along with a couple other people I identify as Percival and Galahad.

He's beaming as he looks at he, walking quickly before grabbing my hand between both of his. "Well done, lad. Really bloody well done indeed!"

I'm not blushing! I'm not!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

And so it went. It was a kinda tricky moment when they told me to shoot Churchill, but I aimed at his tail and the gun turned out to be full of blanks anyway, so who even cares, right?

No, the problem, as it was, came _after._

Turned out, Roxy had shot hers too. Like, the girl didn't even hesitate, picked the gun up and tried her best to empty half a dozen rounds into its head. That's what happens when you give into clichés and forget that some people _really_ don't like dogs, I guess. Turned out she'd only been tolerating it for the sake of Kingsman so far, and at a chance of being rid… her expression at being told to keep it was worth going through all this by itself.

And actually, that's kinda funny that I can say that now, because I came _this_ close to having to do that exact thing. As it happens, both of us metaphorically shot our dogs. So it came down to who did it faster. And given that I'd spend a minute or so thinking… well, let's just say I'd been considering rather distinctively 'roguish' actions when the news came.

" _Don't get upset, Eddie. We'll figure something out. Add a new position to the Round Table if I have to. I'm not without favors to call in, and after everything, you've_ earned _that seat."_

 _I just nodded bemusedly. This isn't something entirely unexpected for me, really. There has never been a time in my life, for as long as I can remember, that things have gone entirely without incident for me. And this jump was going far too smooth. Being faced with losing out on the reward for the training due to nothing but taking a few seconds more to shoot a dog… yeah, that sounds about right._

" _Don't worry, Tristan. Worst comes to worst, there's always my new day job. Or maybe civvy work at MI, even. You got me into this process to enable me to unfuck my life, and I think I can do that now, pretty well at that."_

" _That you can, my boy. That you can, no doubt. But still, I-"_

… _okay, so what's up with the expressions? I watch my uncle's face, and close, as he goes through shock, anger, bemusement followed by anger again and then fading into a kinda weird angry-amusement mood, all over about a couple dozen seconds._

" _What?"_

" _Just caught a bit of news on my earpiece. And I… well, it doesn't really feel right to say this, but I suppose congratulations are in order. You just became a Kingsman."_

" _What?" That can only mean one thing. "Who?"_

" _Lamorak. The teams out of Norway station found him a couple hours ago, got word out a few minutes ago."_

 _Lamorak? Lamorak, I know… absolutely nothing about him. "What was he doing that far up?"_

" _Apparently he was even further up. He'd found some trails of some seriously weird shipments going towards the Arctic."_

" _When you say weird…"_

 _His face turns serious. "ICBM components."_

 _What. "What?"_

 _He waves his hand in the universal 'reassuring' motion quickly. "No warheads, at least that we know of. But propulsion systems, nose cone technology, all that stuff. Along with a lot of bombs and a whole lot of other shit. Like I said, weird."_

 _And really, so it is. ICBMs on the Arctic… only this world. "How did he die?"_

" _We don't know yet. Weather up there is very bad, it's obstructing comms."_

" _Ah. I have to ask. You don't sound too broken up over this."_

 _He looks up from where he'd been furiously calculating things in his head, at that._

" _Honestly? I'm not. Guy was a wanker."_

So yeah. That happened. I'm Lamorak now, the knight most famous for fucking Gawain's mom. I mean, if we're going story-wise it's still _miles_ better than Lancelot, not the least in that it isn't a French Gary Stu SI. But whatever the name, the main stuff is in the role.

And not for the first time since I realized it, the sensation crawls up my spine. I'm a Kingsman now. Arthur's confirmation came minutes after Tristan had a word with him, and Merlin finished the last of the formalities about half an hour ago.

No more tests or trials, no more endless second-guessing, no more defective equipment… I'm a Kingsman now.

 _Me._

 _Moi._

As in, yours truly. _I'm_ being trusted to operate in the shadows to ensure peace prevails in the world and the creatures of murder and shadow remain there. A _Montague._

Man, what's the world coming to?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Congratulations, Edward. I always knew you could do it."

It's the day after. I had a word with Eggsy, mostly the usual conciliatory words. There wasn't much else to say, really. Then Tristan told me my grandfather wanted to see me, and here we are at his club, talking about joining an international spy agency like I'd just won a spelling bee or something.

I'm still not over the whole idea that this was not all a long, elaborate joke after all and I'm apparently being considered an adult and being trusted and shit, and in all probability will never be. But Wilfred seems to have no problems, curiously enough.

"So… you really don't think this is an abomination? Me, _your grandson_ being drafted as a shadowy knight of peace?"

He scoffs. "Of course not. You're a Montague. Yours is a most noble and storied heritage."

"Yes. Yes it is, and it's those stories I'm talking about."

He has the grace to look just that bit embarrassed, at least. "Yes, well, I wouldn't advise putting too much stock in stories. You know how they get."

Oh no. He's not getting away that easy. Not when I distinctly recall him using how the House of Montague assassinated three English princes to keep the 100 years war going and our foundries in business to justify… well, that's not for anyone to know just yet. Let's just say we're even now not paragons of virtue and leave it at that, shall we?

But then we wouldn't be, would we? I have a CP guaranteed income of over three hundred _billion_ American dollars an year. An income that needs to be justified in the real world, _somehow_. You don't get that high and remain clean.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sting of a cane knocking at my knee. I…

"What?" I half-yelp out. It's more theatre than anything else, no 70+ years man has the strength to hurt me, but it's well received, judging by the pleased expression on Wilfred's face lined, old face.

"You zoned out. Don't do that when I'm talking to you." He says gruffly, before smiling.

I'm about to say something back when he holds a hand up. "There's something very important we need to discuss. It's about your body. There seem to be certain… abnormalities, one could say, with it."

Ah. I'd wondered why no one had brought this up before.

"The control over my autonomous functions, increased resistances, ridiculous memory and fitness, all that jazz?"

"Yes. We really must know, what happened when you were… gone, Eddie?" This was Tristan, interjecting with all the smoothness of an angry grizzly.

I sigh. It's not really something I can avid, I suppose. If it's not sooner it'll be later, but this will come out. So I might as well.

"It would help if we could pool information. I know both of you have conducted your own investigations. I would appreciate you telling what you know at the same time."

They both nod, almost in unison.

"Of course. We'll fill each other in on the details, if that's alright."

"So I was taken when I was just over ten, from one of our houses here in the city, while mum was away…"

The story is long and winding, and full of interruptions where they stopped me to ask for clarifications.

I told them about the mountaintop, about the old man who claimed I was now his son along with all the others. I told them about the martial arts practices, and the herbs we were supposed to eat and smoke. They made all the right noises, and winced when I told them about the disciplinary practices.

It was when it got to the end that things got a bit heated.

"What do you mean you don't remember? You don't need to hide things from me, Eddie!" Wilfred's voice remains calm, but I can tell the reality.

So can he, which is the problem. Because it'll be a cold day in hell before I tell my grandfather about the details of the Ozunu clan. It'd be… it'd be so bad an idea I don't even have all the words to express how bad an idea it would be. Like leading the addict to a coke mountain.

Nor do I intend to tell him about the rest. Ozunu is not the only clan out there. There are nine in total. Some got pretty weird, at least according to old man Ozunu. I mean, normally Ozunu considering someone bad would be a stellar recommendation for them, as far as I'm concerned. But really, appointing yourself the arbiter of the merit of all civilization, and then spending the resources needed to actually _enforce_ your rulings? That's whacked by _anyone's_ standards.

But then those guys got kicked out of Japan like forever ago and moved to the middle east, so yeah. You might have heard of the Hashashin? That's them, after their first rebranding. Ozunu told me they rebranded again after that, but I split before he shared the latest on them. Anyway, there have been branches and splinter clans from time to time in history, but the clans tend to be pretty quick about killing those off. So nine they were at the dawn of memorable history, and nine they remain.

But I need an acceptable answer for my grandfather. "I mean that whatever they did affected my memory. It gave me perfect memory from then on, but blurred everything around the actual operation. The last I remember is a training session and the old man leading me away, and then I woke up in a hospital in Vienna!"

Despite himself, Wilfred nods at this, probably recalling the experience himself when his people had received the call and made the verifications. He'd come himself to see if his family lived or not, and that sort of thing, seeing your only hope for your family's millennium old name lying near death, tends to leave an impression.

He's so reluctant I can practically _hear_ it from his actions, but after exchanging a look with Tristan, he nods.

"Very well. Now, there are certain things I know that may be relevant here. You know your mother died trying to find you. She was an experienced agent, one of the finest Kingsman operatives ever, and we believe it was this man, this Old Man Ozunu, who killed her personally."

"Probably. He was never afraid of getting his hands dirty."

They look at me with shocked expressions. Tristan almost looks angry.

"What? Guys, it was a long time ago. I was ten when I last saw her. It doesn't make sense to expect me to still be broken up that my mother is dead."

Tristan makes a face, but Wilfred continues.

"She investigated your disappearance for months, dug into every source she could find, and now I know she was on the right track. The thing is, lad, there's been news about that."

I can feel my neck crick as I jerk my head up to look at him. "What news?"

In response pulls out a phone, tapping a few times before showing it to me. It's an open folder, with a number of pdfs showing.

"She found a number of leads. People who she managed to make talk, one way or the other. Before she died she told me their names and the ways she used to contact them. Tristan here has been servicing those agents for years now, and this is a list of relevant material. We believe they are assassins for hire, and this is a list of their latest work."

I… she got people _in the network?_ The support network the Ozunu clan used was a thing of beauty. Nothing very complicated, unlike what you would expect from the shadowy ninja archetype, but effective.

Ozunu prizes nothing above loyalty, and he knows how to get it. He doesn't inspire it so much as he _breeds_ it, getting people young and raising them to obey and follow him in all things. The best become Shinobi, but the rest are given funds from their operations and sent away to establish themselves. Families, businesses, everything.

They are of every ethnicity under the sun, speak just about all the languages, observe the religions, and live as perfectly ordinary people. Except that whenever needed, they open their houses, offices and bank accounts, everything that is needed, to black clothed men who need them. No Ozunu ninja ever needs to book a room anywhere. None of us needs to get funds in a detectable way.

None of them leaves a paper trail, or any other kind of evidence. Missions come when a random person on the street walks over and drops a chit, themselves having been given it by a perfectly harmless person a couple streets away and told to hand it to the described person.

And if she compromised _that_ network… I deliberately avoid thinking about the things she would have done. There are limits to what a man can imagine about his mother, be it to visualize her torturing the sleepers' kids, or, well, exchanging 'favors'.

I tap the topmost pdf. It opens up in a newspaper clipping about the death of the Russian Prime Minister Dmitry Zhukov days before he could assume the presidency. I know the remaining story too, of course. It triggered a snap election that swept a little known, ex-KGB spook-turned minor politician called Igor Komarov to power, and the rest is history.

I tap the other one, but but before it can load I can feel my own phone vibrating. Across the table I see Tristan reaching into his pocket.

Uh oh. This can't be good. I answer the phone.

It isn't. Good, I mean.

I meet Tristan's eyes, to see the blood drain from his face. He descends to the seat behind him heavily. He looks destroyed. But then I'd be too.

Five minutes ago Galahad was shot dead by the target of his investigation in front of a church full of people he'd slaughtered. People _Galahad_ had slaughtered, not the target.

 _What the fuck is going on?_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	10. Chapter 10

"… and then he shot Galahad."

I sit back, looking across the table at Roxy. Sorry, no, across the table at _Lancelot._ Roles and places and all that. It's kinda weird, seeing her in the spot I'd imagined myself into, but I got to this table anyway, so who even cares, right?

We're at the conference table in the training center, still at our places where the hologram cameras are taking in our every move. We drank a toast to Galahad about thirty minutes ago, followed by a vote to appoint Eggsy in his place which was deferred to Arthur's judgment.

Speaking of which, it's Michael Caine! I have to say, I almost squealed in delight at seeing him at the head of the table! This place has a weird habit of making my favorite actors into people I enjoy interacting with, and it's amazing!

That said, the contents of the meeting were decidedly not, and neither were the contents of _this_ discussion. Not the least of which was my shock at seeing the face of Galahad's target. But that's something we can come back to later. I mean, I could spend my time wondering about it now, but the sheer idea that the Director, European Operations of the NSA was secretly a supervillain industrialist…

Yeah, no. That's not how it works. I'll need to figure out just what's going on, but there is this thing that's all the rage among successful people out there. It's called prioritizing.

This whole plan of Valentine's needs to be shut down first, before I start running off to chase after impossible happenings. It's simply not as important.

That being said, what _is_ important needs a game plan figured out so we can get to the actual 'punch the asshole on the dick and prevent his plans from getting executed' part. And that will require data. A lot of data. I need to _know_ , know everything about Valentine, about where his weaknesses are and how to target them.

"Lamorak, Lancelot, we're expecting orders from Arthur regarding further operations momentarily. In the meantime you'd bet get going on whatever initiatives you think are best. I must say, this is the kind of trial by fire that can set the whole tenor of your work at Kingsman. Take care, agents."

… okay. I wasn't much concerned by everything I learned so far. Sure, it was serious stuff that needed to be planned and prepared for, but it wasn't really _scary._ But _Merlin_ acting serious? Okay, so that's something to get worried about.

Anyway, now that the meeting's over, I can start…

"Wait!" Merlin's yell reaches me just as I'm about to step out of the door.

I can see Roxy turn around at the opposite door at the same time. Looking at the bald genius, I quirk an eyebrow. "What?"

It goes unanswered. He's staring at his phone's screen, transfixed. Whatever it is, it's consumed all of his attention, entirely.

"He… I… Arthur's dead."

 _What?_

Seriously, _what_?

I glance at Roxy. If anything, she looks even more shocked than me. Then I take another look at the app on Merlin's phone.

"It's the life monitor. All Kingsman agents have one, you'll be getting yours tomorrow. Arthur's just went off."

"But… how? He was in London, wasn't he? What was he even doing?"

"Well, I can check the shop's footage, but I believe he was just sitting down to make some calls. Needed to kick some people on the ass, pull others' heads out of their asses, stuff like that."

"And that got him killed? Who was the last one to see him?"

That's a good question from Roxy. I turn to Merlin. I'll be able to find out all this for myself once all my updated IDs and shit come in, but just asking the resident All-Access, helpful Senior Agent is almost as good, frankly.

Merlin stares into the phone in his hands, performing the usual motions any denizen of the 21st century performs, with rapid taps and flicks across his screen. I can tell when he's found what he's looking for when he goes all stiff and ramrod straight for a second, before seeming to age like a dozen decades in an instant.

"It's… it's eggsy. Eggsy checked into the shop last, ostensibly to return the car he'd 'borrowed'. Then he stepped into the shop's conference room, and a few minutes later…" Merlin trails off, looking genuinely distressed.

"Bloody hell on a black bicycle…" That's Roxy. I stare. _That's_ a unique one… I realize Merlin is staring at her too. She notices us about three seconds later and blushes. I crack a smile.

Then it's wiped off, as I recall the situation. Eggsy? _Eggsy_ killed Arthur? The guy who couldn't shoot a _dog?_ That's… I mean… but the records can't lie.

"He's coming here?"

"What?" I ask, first for once.

"He just boarded the Egg." True to British form, the Kingsman had named our super-fast underground train something that bore only a vague and distant association to it, and yet was just related enough to sound weird. In this case the name is for the shape of the single coach of the train, shaped like an egg.

But that's not relevant. Eggsy coming here does make things a bit better, or at least, it opens up the possibility, since unless he suddenly got a fatal dose of arrogance and thinks he can take everyone here on, he presumably intends to talk about something.

Whatever the case may be, he'll be here in twenty minutes. We need to be in place and ready to handle whatever intentions he comes in with. I move to the door quickly, knowing without looking that the others fell into step right behind me as soon as I started. Entering the 'reception' (which has neither a desk, nor a secretary nor anything else that would make it a reception), I pull out a gun, taking my place at a corner.

In the meantime, I can get started on some work. It takes me about ten seconds on my phone to navigate to one of Valentine's websites, and another three to start up the myriad hacking apps I've stuffed the phone with. I'd usually prefer working myself to using the canned shit, but the world might end tomorrow so I'm a _little_ short of time.

So 'script kiddie' work it is. Each of the subroutines I designed was tested on the world's greatest known firewalls and protection systems, and each of them was refined, tuned over and over until it could get through the best of them like a hot knife through butter.

Here… well, let's just say I don't expect this to be that easy. Valentine wouldn't be the man he is if it was. As Eggsy's train approaches, I flick through options, finding the links on Valentine's web pages, identifying the links, literal hyperlinks between the images and page elements used and the locations they are physically stored on in servers.

A few the phone's own systems are dedicated to exploring, but the vast bulk are sent over to the supercomputers in my London home (I brought over my stuff from Prague and put it together with some of the parts I found lying around, the results were pretty promising).

The way this kind of hacking works, you trace a link and try to 'get' there. That is, you establish a direct data stream, and being uploading and downloading data. But the system tries to prevent this. It bans your IP so you need to keep changing it every few seconds. It tries to shut down the connection so you need to interrupt those instructions; there are dedicated programs that do it; and… look, this is all very technical. The point is, this all ends up looking surprisingly similar to the keyboard mash 'hacking' one might have derided in the movies.

And as the rules of drama would have it, Valentine's machines are top-notch. My prepared scripts are all unique, developed from the best attack viruses and systems I was able to locate, all meant to strike at normally undefended sections of a computer's defenses, packing data bombs and programming diseases of intense lethality, some very dangerous stuff. And they do work, intermittently, and only briefly.

Simply put, the systems predict too many attacks, and are far too fast in responding to them. They hold back attacks that have _shattered_ the best systems I've seen in the past, and they do so to several at a time whereas each one of the attacks would normally suffice for the aforementioned shattering.

Yeah, this… this isn't going to work out very well, at least not in the time we have. His processors can simply execute orders faster than mine can send conflicting instructions or disabling measures, and that's all there is to it, at most times.

Now if I was _there_ I could come up with something, some normally unexplored avenue that computers aren't designed to fight against. But I'm not, so I can't. The more I look for the connections between these company servers and any private databases/servers he might have, and trust me, there _are_ such connections, the closer the defenses of the system come to kicking me out altogether.

But further exploration is interrupted when I pick up the sound of the egg pulling in.

Looking up, I get a good look at Roxy. She's staring at where the egg will stop, face already set. This must be hard for her. I was pretty cool with Eggsy, but she and him were actually friends, and pretty good ones.

Almost as if she feels my gaze, Roxy turns her head, looking me in the eyes. I jerk my head towards the track, to indicate that he's coming. She nods. How does she… right, the sensors along the track. An earpiece in her ear confirms the idea. Well, that works too.

My hand rises almost by itself as the Egg rushes into position. I'm aware of Merlin's steps as he comes to the door, just shy of stepping in.

A second later, Eggsy steps out, dressed again as I'd originallu seen him back at Day 1 of training. I mean, I've seen London chavs before, but _bloody hell_. He's looking like a walking stereotype. Actually, scratch that previous bit. He's got this ridiculous jacket on that makes him look _even more_ of an idiotic chav than before.

But enough commenting on his wear, that's not what we're here for. I prepare to step forward, to see what he has to say about Arthur's death and where we go from this.

"Why did you do that, Eggsy?" Huh? That's Roxy, gun already pointed at Eggsy's head. She's stepping forwards, keeping her gun trained and cocking the hammer back. Why…

"He helped us! He was the leader of Kingsman, and you poisoned him with a Kingsman pen! Why?" She's yelling now. And I have to say, I'm close to panicking. I turn to Merlin for a second, raising an eyebrow while gesturing towards her. Maybe he knows?

He looks just as lost as me, but I can practically _see_ it as realization dawns. His fingers twitch, and I see a message appear on my glasses' HUD.

'Susanne Morton-King'.

Huh? Susanne Morton-King is Roxy's mom, isn't she? What does she have to… ohh crap.

Susanne Morton-King was born just Susanne _King_. As in, the daughter of Chester King.

Arthur was Roxy's grandfather.

Does explain how a chick with Vertigo got shortlisted in the first place, come to think of it. And as proud as I am of Roxy for overcoming that, it won't help if she kills Eggsy right now. I step forward myself, carefully _not_ pointing my gun at anyone.

"Let him speak, Lancelot. He might have useful information."

"I do too, dun I?" Eggsy being indignant is _not_ helping.

Merlin steps in here. "Well, say it and make it quick, boy. What is it?"

And so the story comes out. I keep a careful watch at Roxy's face as Eggsy shows us the implant and the phone to corroborate his story, and to her credit she doesn't let so much as a flicker of it show. But I can only imagine what must be going on inside that head… not that I have the time to.

"Okay, we need to get going! This phone is sending out a regular signal, I can trace that to the receiver in a moment, and we can get started. We don't know who else is compromised, so we have to do it ourselves!"

We follow along, rushing to catch up with him. I'd have tried to defend Tristan under normal circumstances, but honestly, if _Arthur_ could be compromised… I've read _stories_ of the man. Just what _is_ Valentine doing here?

In a matter of minutes we're in a Kingsman plane, with the phone patched into the onboard computer. In seconds the location is traced, but I'm busy with my own system. It's some mountain in Scandinavia, Sweden-ish.

"Okay, so we know he's going to use his satellites to broadcast the wave, and it's just going to originate from the surface. We don't have the time to bring out all the bells and whistles right now, but we do have this on board. He finishes off with a flourish, pointing to a set of era with that unique look of dumbness that places them square in the middle of the cold war.

Seriously, have you seen any equipment from that era? All blocky and clunky. Stupid, in one word.

But it's a system that would let a normal human take out a satellite, so y'know, looking a bit silly is permissible.

I set my own systems to the phone's signals just as Merlin gets into explaining the device. Once I see the exact model and piece I tune him out. I checked these out before I left for Prague once. And y'know, perfect memory and all that.

Instead, the signal from the phone is more interesting. Specifically, the distortions I'm picking up in it. Most of the noise is the usual stuff you'd expect, radio clutter and random segments it was exposed through in the air. But a lower spectrum of it is funny. It's too consistent a pattern to be random noise. It's a almost as if… well I hesitate to say it, but it's as if different signal is being emitter from the same location, the radio images of which are caught in this one.

But that makes no sense whatsoever. The only signal going out from the place would be the signal to Valentine's satellite, to keep updated with it. And maybe signals to these implants like the one in front of me. Neither of which would be caught by a broadcast like this. No, this is a signal of the same type as the one to the phones, only being sent elsewhere.

Which means… oh, _fuck._

"-Morak will be able to get into his bunker and start the hacking while Eggsy takes out the satellites. Roxy, you will-" he notices me just as I'm about to interrupt him.

"I don't think we'll be able to do that, Merlin. Valentine has a backup.

"What? You mean… how could you even know that?"

I explain how.

I can tell Roxy and Eggsy didn't follow a word of it, but Merlin, to his credit, seems to understand.

"Can you find out where this second signal is going?"

"I…" I run through my calculations one more time "Yes. Yes I can."

"Okay, do it."

I nod, sitting down quickly. This is going to be one hell of a trick, even for me. First I need to warp the phone's signal, with some specific pieces of data it takes me about a minute to code completely. There are specific patterns, instructions of sorts. They go with the phone's 'Proof of Life' signal, and being meaningless on the surface, will disperse into inaudible noise upon arrival.

Except they won't. There is a second signal stream being sent out and recieved from the same place, and it's for that one that these instructions are meant. If my calculations are right, my instructions will tell the receiver, simply put, that it should order the other end of it's connection to update it's location.

This incoming signal will then be broken down and reconfigured to fit _this_ , the phone's signal patterns, and in it, carry the answer.

Having coded, the first signal batch is sent out. If it worked the answer would be here… now.

No answer. No matter. I turn back to my extrapolators program. It's a little something I cooked up while the NSA was rolling up the last of the Anarchy 99, back in Prague. I told it to extrapolate the actual form of the other signal from the noise vestiges we're picking up in our stream, and the first option it provided just proved useless.

I encode it to keep picking signals and sending until it gets the answer, and from there it's a waiting game. In the meantime I get to working directly on Valentine's systems. The connection to the phone is isolated, of course, but if he didn't separate every signal emitter he's using into separate rooms and then shield each of them separately, then that means he doesn't think of _everything._

And I can work with that much. Have, in the past. Well, in simulations.

But again, trying to beat Valentine's defenses is like trying to play tennis against a gun. The attacks come too fast, and even if you could do something each individual attack can still fuck you up by itself. No, no, this is a dead end without more time.

And _that's_ not happening, of course. I disable my ongoing attacks all at once and back off with all traces erased behind me. That was the point, of course. It's like retreating on good order vs a rout. I shit off the last of the attempted traces from the system, pathetically weak not that we're not playing within it's godlike processors.

I'd like to see- "Ding!" Ah.

I turn back to my other screen. On it are the coordinates for Valentine's backup site, already being mapped by the plane's computer. Hm, not that far from the main site, surprisingly. Me, I'd have put it as far away as possible, but I suppose that would have made it much more difficult to keep both sites isolated from outside networks, _and_ made their own signals that much more detectable.

"Well, this changes the plan. Roxy, you'll have to take out the sats now. The signals and computers in this backup sites are almost certainly going to be encrypted to hell and back, and only Lamorak is qualified to work on those."

Roxy just sighs in that quintessential way of the long-suffering. I smother a grin. I don't know what it is, but sometimes it's great fun to see her suffer. Probably due to how she can't seem to figure out the whole 'no teeth' thing… nevermind.

But soon afterwards, the plans are sorted. Merlin finalizes Eggsy's 'Chester King' identity, reconfiguring the phone and the signals it's sending, ensuring it changes all the relevant data. As far as we can tell the phone is both the beacon and proof of identity. Anyone who has it is entitled to be in this bunker thing, so long as the identity they claimed is the one on record.

Good, too. I wonder how we might have managed this if Valentine had had better security? Sometimes this world is a bit too obvious in its tropes. Once Roxy is done gearing up, it's time to go. She takes off mid-flight with her Star Wars system coming operational, a sight I'm only able to see on the screen, seeing as how I need to get my own prep work done.

I strap in the last of my weapons, give my gear a final check, and then take another look at the Nav. The way we figured, I'll do a para-drop over the backup site, while the plane goes on to the main site with Merlin and Eggsy to complete the mission. Once my work at the backup site is done and dusted, we can figure out where to go from there.

According to the navigation systems we're still a few minutes away from my destination, so I take the chance to study the maps around it one last time. I'll have less than thirty minutes to get to whatever broadcast systems there are in this facility and take them out. Nothing too complicated, all in all, but rather time-sensitive, especially considering the stakes. The world drowning itself in an orgy of mad, senseless violence is not exactly a pretty picture, if it needs to be said at all.

And soon enough, my last overview of the terrain is complete. I turn towards Merlin, and the door where Eggsy is changing. "Okay then, guys. I'll see you tomorrow. Party, my place!"

"Attaboy, Lamorak." "Yess, Awesome, Eddy!"

" _Lamorak,_ Eggsy. Call him Lamorak."

And then I jump.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I fire two bullets into the head of the guard just as he's turning towards me, leaving him to crash to the ground as I dart into the now unguarded door. I landed here about ten minutes ago, and it took me this long to find a way in from the outermost corridors. Now I'm at the outer guard post, and with any luck, the computers here will make the rest of this trip the easiest I ever undertook.

I set myself down on the guards' monitors, loading up every camera and monitoring program active in here. Once the full breadth of the feed is available, I can get my phone out and start loading up my prepared packages.

They take several seconds to load, and soon enough, I can see the results. The coding windows that open up needs to be tended to, of course, but that's just the fine tuning needed to calibrate my generic programs to these systems.

Once the data from my system diagnostics is fed into the hacker programs, they drop all the deadwood, calibrate themselves for maximum effectiveness, and get to work. So do I. Valentine's supercomputers are among the best in the world, good enough that this ought to be an hours long task for even me, but there are certain disadvantages to the need of maintaining absolute secrecy.

I could go into detail, but come on, it's not like you care. Instead, let's just say that for the first time against these systems, I'm making progress. Real progress, not the 'hamster wheel' situations I kept facing earlier.

Speaking of which… ah ha! A full map of this facility! I found it in one of the secondary files used by one of the techs assigned to service the CCTVs. It's like they say, _every_ security system is flawed. No matter how great you might think you've designed something, the human element will _always_ fuck things up.

Well, now that I have this, I might as well get started on using it. I plot a route for myself into the base, targeting the best-protected, most well-secured wing of the place. These systems don't have any authority over the inner compound, but what they do have is plenty.

Five minutes at the machine is enough to ensure I don't encounter so much as a single guard or automated gun on my way in. Patrols are redirected, automated systems placed under 'maintainence', cameras shut down, and all the rest.

It doesn't work _totally_ , there's still a bunch of people I need to remove, but it makes the work immensely simpler, all things considered.

Of course, that was just the outer compound. Following the initial defenses there is a set of long, open corridors with prominent gun emplacements, solid metal walls in the ceiling ready to drop-down and make a target's day really unpleasant, and all the usual bells and whistles places like this usually have. There's very few personnel, though, which does make sense as the level of loyalty-testing required for a place like this would probably be _insane._

Getting to the inside takes me a shade over ten minutes, putting me dangerously close to my boundary. One problem is that this bloody place is shielded to block communications on all but the specific frequency that Valentine's systems use, meaning I can't actually check up with anyone.

But before long I'm inside, going through the labs and warehouses at the heart of the complex one after the other. One of these holds the broadcasting equipment and probably the jammer, and the only way I can find it is going through all of them! Inconvenient, but the people who are _supposed_ to be here probably recall exactly where everything is.

I jump high in the air as two guards turn in a rush, clinging to the ceiling for my life. As they walk forward, guns drawn, I pull out my weapons, ordinary kitchen knives purloined from the guards' Mess. Not the best tools for killing work, but they're silent in a way bullets just can't match, even with this world's silencers being movie quality instead of real world quality.

I drop down on the slower guard just as the other one has stepped a decent distance away, leaning forward to look down a corridor. Before he knows what's happening I have one of the knives planted deep in his neck, triggering a small fountain of blood out of the slit throat. I leave the gurgling body to collapse to the floor, closing in on the next one.

He's the leader, I can tell that much from the way they interacted and the uniforms. So killing this one might be counter-productive. Instead, I rush forward in a single bound until I'm just behind him, placing the knife on his neck in a single, smooth motion, while my other hand slams into his rising arm, pushing it against the wall and keeping it there.

"Listen well, because I'm going to ask once. If you do anything other than answering the question, and answering it exactly and truthfully, I'll slit your throat and let you book it off this world just like your friend. Got it?" I inject as much malice and scariness in my voice as I can, trying to get across just how much I meant each of those words. It seems to work, because while he opens his mouth several times, no noise comes out. He stares at me, seemingly trying to map out every detail of my soul with a single deep, penetrating stare.

Eventually, he just nods in that unique tiny nod only utterly terrified people seem to manage. Then I ask the question.

"Somewhere around here, there is a room with the only computers in this room capable of exchanging any data with the outside world. I need to know where it is. Tell me, and you live."

He opens his mouth again, presumably to ask something asinine like whether I was serious, or maybe to lay down a curse on me. Then he just… sighs. And starts moving.

Okay then! I have a guide! This should make things much easier.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This… is not proving easy. I stare at the door, willing it to open. It stubbornly refuses to oblige me. It's a hulking, huge metallic door, smooth on the front but with intricate works near the lock section and on the other side.

And . it . absolutely . refuses . to . OPEN!

I've tried everything from the guards' access systems to some c-4 there was in one of the side-rooms. Nothing so much as put a scratch in it. I'd try to hack it, but that presupposes being able to link a computer with the damned thing.

Seriously, it's been over seven minutes already, putting me at seventeen minutes and just eight minutes away from the deadline, and I've tried everything to open this door except turning the doorknob. Seriously, what will it take? There is a broadcast system behind that will destroy the world in a matter of minutes, and I can't get through a door?

I'd ask the captive guard, but he got gunned down by one of the automated guns after I tried to hack the door via the base' systems and it sent back an attack that destroyed my control of those and set them to fire indiscriminately.

But there has to be a way. I need to get inside, I need to…

I turn the doorknob.

The door opens.

I take several deep breaths.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	11. Chapter 11

Finding the broadcasting computer once inside the sanctum is simplicity itself. My mind is still reeling from what just happened, the sheer impossibility of it, when I locate the CPU and the linked antennas. Switching on the screen nearby, I run an initial check, and… whoa.

Okay, so I thought this is a backup system slaved to the main one. I mean, with Valentine's resources, it would be simplicity itself to keep his primary command setup close to him, kinda like the nuclear football, to use as an example. But this… this isn't a computer receiving instructions from elsewhere. If anything, _this_ is the primary system that others are slaved to.

Of course, right now it's on a 'contingency' setup. Should anything happen to the system that Valentine is at it'll go online and broadcast the signal after thirty minutes.

That's… an interesting choice of design. One wouldn't think that thirty minutes would be enough for a force that neutralized the main broadcaster to start relaxing and thus be caught unawares as such backup systems should be designed to catch them. But then again, it's _this_ world, where any of this actually sounds like a good plan and I'm a secret agent standing in the secret domain of a supervillain.

Logic works differently, and taking the Action Movie aspects into account… yes, I can believe it'd work. Juat as the system clears away it's 'starting' visuals and gets a kind of real 'work' screen started, I… stop. Okay, so what is this? I stare at the black, black screen in front of me, dominated with a lazily rotating symbol.

A symbol that's done in deep, blood-red, depicting a snake's head snarling at me. It's a very, very familiar sign. I saw it not two weeks ago, on the ring worn by the asshole who seemed to have guided Jorgi to his plan.

What is this? Is it fate, or the coming together of a really shitty story? How am I connected, and why am I being chased by this symbol… are questions I _really_ don't have the time to ponder right now. I need to get cracking! The systems here are no less encrypted than Valentine's systems outside. As a matter of fact, as I progress in my analysis of the systems and the authorization levels they operate under…

This is not looking good.

I plug in my phone, flicking on the whole suite of hacking software. Not that I have very high hopes for the lot considering the failure against Valentine's _external_ systems, let alone the ones here, but one can always hope, y'know.

Unfortunately, hope seems unoikely to be the key here. I work for over ten minutes on the target, aware of both the ticking clock at the back of my head and the one dominating the screen. But there doesn't seem to be an answer. I've tried to guess passwords, as has my phone's system. I've been trying to initiate a server reboot, a broadcaster shutdown or disablement, even more esoteric tricks like fiddling around with buffers and the like.

Nothing works. It's all encrypted to hell and back, and protected with the most advanced secutiry system I've ever seen, bar none. There have to be gaps and flaws, I know that intellectually. Every security system is flawed. But damned if I can figure any of it out. It's nothing like anything I've seen. The sheer level of encryption and the robustness of the programming, it's all so advanced as if it's from centuries in the future. I feel like a NASA genius in the 60's trying to break into an iPhone.

"Warning, scan evaluates Primary systems compromised. Secondary systems activating. Preparing for broadcast in 30 minutes.

Shit, shit, shit!

It's time to go with less delicate methods. I start unloading every single trick I have, going full-pelt into trying to just cause the system to either come apart at the seams and let me pick it's secrets, or just melt down. It'll lose me all the data I had an eye on to grab, but if Eggsy and Roxy have done their part and I end up being the one who dooms the world to die in a planet-wide orgy of violence… that wouldn't be nice.

But none of it works any more than the original attempts! I can see the system take the attacks, compressed packages of data and instructions that would send the most advanced supercomputers out there go into logical loops and processing overloads under the sheer scale and complexity of the stuff. This one doesn't even seem to _notice_ it.

No flashes on its screen, no warning screens, no change whatsoever in any of the hardware systems behind it. I'm painfully aware of every second as the minutes rush by in a stampede, pushing the end of the world closer and closer with every second.

It's about twelve minutes in that I rise from my seat, having exhausted my bag of tricks five minutes ago and spent that time trying to just _understand_ enough of the system to design something just for it.

But it's… too much. I know I can understand it. I can master it and compromise it, and I can do it well. I just can't do it in eighteen minutes, and that leaves us with rather more desperate options. Such as… well, I pick up the chair I was sitting on, and slam it into the metal panels underneath the screen. That's where the CPUs are, see. I managed to get that much out of it via backtracking… look, there really isn't time for explanations right now. I figured it out, that's all you need to know.

The impact is as hard as I can make it, and the sound echoes for several second after it. But of course, no change. I toss the chair aside in disgust and start looking around. I got a glimpse of it that I still have in my head, thanks to eidetic memory, but I didn't really look _into_ the room, just at it. Now, going through it with a fine-toothed comb, I look at each and every inch once again.

There is something in the walls that's blocking the X-ray binoculars, and reaching in with my head earns me a nice shock that leaves me dazed and shaking for over a minute. After this is repeated when I try to reach in with just a finger… I stop trying.

There's nothing for it. I have thirteen minutes on the clock, and there is no software method working. Hardware can't be accessed using my exotic powers, and can't be damaged ordinarily. Which leaves… "BANG BANG BANG" three exploding shells fired into the metal panel. There's no _particular_ reason to expect these will work any more than the other stuff did, but I can try, right?

Apparently not. The bullets don't so much as scratch the system, splattering like it was snowballs I threw. And of course, I have to be punished for trying. "Detected attack on backup systems. Accelerating broadcast time. Countdown initiated. T minus thirty seconds."

Bloody hell, come on! I', really going to fail. Earth is going to get ripped apart by people tearing apart people, and it's all my fault, because I couldn't crack one stupid code. Why? Why won't the finest hacking software suite in the world make even the _slightest_ dent in these defenses? Why won't this bloody thing just "STOP THE DAMN BROADCAST!"

I let myself sink down after screaming the last. People in movies always act like how it's a relief to scream out loud, the whole 'let it all out' thing. To me it just feels like a failure. I can see the counter still in my head, going down and down. I turn to look at the on-screen counter, trying to just…

"Command Acknowledged. Broadcast cancelled."

Huh?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Merlin, I'm fucked."

Receiving the transmission, Merlin suppressed a sigh. He could see Valentine's forces taking aim and getting ready to destroy him, plane and all. And him with just an automatic. He wished, not for the first time, that they'd taken one of the armed planes. He'd have liked to see these bastards stand there smug when he had missiles of his own to fire at them, or even a simple minigun to reduce them to bloody chunks of flesh.

But it would have taken far too long to prepare one of those, and they'd been in a hurry. And now Eggsy was probably going to die, and so was Merlin, in all probability.

"As am I, Egg…" Merlin paused mid word, turning sharply on a heel as on one of the screens to the side suddenly flashed to life and started displaying streams after streams of new data.

Merlin took a note of the download and the location, before taking a second look at the data itself. He was aware of Eggsy seeming to have struck upon some idea and saying something, while he parsed the text flashing on the screen that he now recalled Eddy had been working on not long ago.

It was… bank accounts, schematics, weapon designs, what looked like a set of blackmail files and _personal journals…_ how had the other agent done it? Because he knew what this was. This was the treasure trove, all of Valentine's most valuable data… and he would lose Eggsy if he stared into it too deeply.

He'd heard the young man's plan just a second ago, while he'd still been immersed in the data being transmitted. Now he set himself executing it. His first instinct was to issue a general order on the channel the implants received instructions on. It was the quickest way, here and now that every second counted. But that didn't mean it was the best, especially now.

It took the genius about three seconds to tap a key that patched in the data from Eddy's terminal to his, initiate a search for the parameters he required, and select his results. It took him four seconds more to make his adjustments and load up his instruction. In that time he was aware that whoever had been about to kill Eggsy would have moved about a meter, and the people about to blow him to hell would have seen their machine activate, it's systems having fought off the bombarding of random distraction data from the plane.

Then Merlin hit a key, and the world around him, for hundreds upon hundreds of meters, erupted in music and colors. The adjustments from Eddy's data allowed him to filter the general 'detonate' order to only target implants currently in the base. Considering what he'd seen in his brief look at the data stream, the alternative… well, it didn't really bear thinking about too much.

But now there was only the mop-up work left for Eggsy, and Merlin could get into the data _properly._ He allowed himself to wonder, now. Just how had the boy done it? Valentine's encryption systems were, quite literally, decades ahead of anything the most advanced intelligence agencies, governments, or corporations in this world had. Montague was no one's fool, but when had he gotten _that_ good?

Merlin imagined the boy, sitting suavely and calmly on one of the terminals in the backup base, basking in his own smugness at having achieved the next to impossible, confident of his own immortality and secure in his victory. It was a joy to be that, that age and that mindset. It wasn't one any amount of training could take out of you, not really, and in any case Kingsman didn't _want_ that mindset going away.

No, Montague would be more confident now than he'd ever been, flying high on wings of euphoria. And Merlin would let him remain such, at least for now. He could already see just how and when Lamorak would be needed again in the near future, along with his colleagues. There was a fuck-ton of work that would need to be sorted out and studied regarding Valentine alone. But for now, he could be allowed the joy of victory, and his inevitable confidence he knew everything that was important in the world.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I have no idea _what the fuck_ is going on here. Simply downloading and sending over a complete dossier on the bases took nearly all I have, so scattered are my thoughts right now. I even managed that solely because Merlin had driven it into my head that finding and sending it over was the first thing to do if and when I breached security. Doing it had been more of an automatic response than anything else, an old, rehearsed action to latch on to when my mind is thoroughly and completely blown.

I mean… what just happened here? Did I really waste so much time, and push it so close to the broadcast, on a computer that wasn't even protected? Was the reason behind me being unable to crack the security measures really as simple as there not being any?

No. No, that makes _no_ sense, and it doesn't behoove me to sit about being bewildered about this. Not as a Kingsman agent and not as a Montague. It's shocking and confusing, but I need to gather myself and get cracking on figuring out just how and why it's all these things. Fortunately, there's a very simple way to do that available.

"Computer, can you answer my questions?"

The answer comes almost before my question is complete. "Affirmative"

"Why? I mean, why isn't the data in you and the access to this facility better protected?"

"Question unclear, both the facility and the data are protected with Level 1 locks."

Hm? Okay, what's _that_ supposed to mean? Either the protections are disabled for some reason, or due to some fluke… _I_ have access? But that's impossible. How could that possibly happen?

"Computer, who am I?"

"You are Edward Montague, Viscount Tandagree, heir to the Duchy of-"

"Not that" I cut her off. My full list of inheritances and titles is something I'm far too familiar with already. "Who am I to you? How can your systems be considered protected if I can access them as easily as I did?"

"All life-forms are analyzed upon entering the outer complex. User was confirmed Level One clearances and authorizations across all core levels."

Huh. I suppress the million and one thoughts rising in my head, clamoring for my attention. As much as I want to just put my mind to it and figure out how that can be, it's infinitely simpler to ask the nice computer that's telling me everything anyway.

"Okay. So regarding those authorizations, what is my designation? How do I have these access levels?"

"Access levels for biometrics matched to the user are encoded in physical devices holding computer setup. Protocols are classified across all levels up to the HCC, where they're available on specific request."

Okay, that triggers another set of questions in my head. Just what… nevermind. "You didn't answer the other question. What is my designation?"

"User designation is %&^%$# !%." I wince at the warped noise that the computer gives out at the end, sounding like a mix of static and screeches.

"What was that?"

"Query unclear. System complied with user command."

"That noise you made instead of answering my question. What was that?"

I get the feeling the computer is sighing, or wincing at me somehow. Y'know, the way people get when they have to tell you something they know you don't want to hear.

"User designation is redacted, User clearance insufficient."

My response is probably not the most elegant "What? But what about that Level One thing?"

"User designation is compartmentalized from all users not explicitly a part of HCC. Until user takes up his seat in the HCC, user cannot request information."

"What's the HCC?"

"The HCC stands for-" I admit, I jump a bit when the system pauses for just a second. Then it starts up again. "Warning, Primary Controller of local systems detected dead in secondary base. Mode of death is enemy action. Cleanup Protocol Venom 1, Internal to be in effect in T minus ten minutes."

Oh… crap. Okay, let's game this out. The others probably just knocked off Valentine. Now this condition… knowing the tropes of this world, it's gotta be some kind of self-destruct/sealing off game here. If I cut it close, it'll take me thirty seconds, at best, to get out of this place. That's if I'm not interrupted on the way at all. Accounting for holdups, it'll probably take as much as two minutes. That gives me eight minutes. Unless…

"No need to do that. Override the order and acknowledge me as Primary controller."

"Request invalid. Controllership can be awarded only by HCC order or Designation from Primary Controller."

Bloody hell. Okay, so… eight minutes. Well, seven and forty five seconds, now.

"What is condition Venom 1, Internal?"

"Venom 1, Internal is a cleanup protocols in the event probability of base infiltration is higher than 85%. All nonessential systems are shut down, all entrances and exits are sealed and corridors are flooded with a cocktail of deadly toxins designed to eliminate all life forms in the building."

Well, can't say I didn't expect that. That's the kind of thing these emergency commands tend to be anyway. Still, it means I need to talk fast.

"What can you tell me? Who is, sorry, was your Primary Controller?"

"Primary Controller was Richmond Valentine, HCC Member Level 1" No surprises there, but it's good to confirm.

Ah, that reminds me. "And what is the HCC?"

"HCC stands for the High Command Council. It is the highest ranking authority over all Cobra assets in the absence of a #^%$^ ^#$$#^#%^ or until user is acknowledged as %&^%$# !% by HCC."

Great. More redactions. Six and a half minutes remaining, and so much to ask. But first things first. "Compile all data I'm authorized to access in a single file, and transit it all to the IP address I'm going to tell you now."

"Unable to comply."

"What? But you haven't received the data yet!"

"System shutdown imminent in four minutes and eighteen seconds. Requested quantity of data cannot be transmitted in this time with proper encryptions without Cobra-grade receiving stations."

Oh. I suppose I was being too clever here. And anyway, these people would likely have known of it if I'd managed that. Still, it leaves me with about fix minutes to ask my questions, give or take.

Okay. Okay, let's… "Tell me about Valentine. What's his internal dossier?"

"Richmond Valentine was a Cobra Level 1 member, part of the High Command Council as the last Doctor Mindbender. For details of his birth, please refer Dossier AI.143-VG. He was responsible for-" "Stop!"

I roll the worlds over in my head as the machine pauses. Looking at the page on the screen, it's the full dossier on Valentine. I tap my finger on my thumb in a particular pattern, until I feel the telltale sensation from the implant there switching on. Another tap, and I'm told that the camera in my glasses has taken a picture of the document.

Then I can continue "Open File AI.143-VG"

In a second, the image on the screen changes to display the file. Immediately, the computer starts speaking. "As part of the Apotheosis Initiative, the DNA of several prominent warlords and schemers across history was used to create a viable set. Of the 143rd strain, two specimen were deemed successes. All others were liquidated. The first of these was 143-M-NA-1, born Augustus Gibbons. For details please refer dossier 'Augustus Gibbons'. The second was Richmond Valentine. For details…"

"Pause"

Ah. I mean… okay. So… a look at the corner of my glasses HUD tells me I have barely over three minutes left now. Needless to say, I have far more questions. I'll need to prune them, get useful data. It takes me a few seconds to gather my thoughts fully, look through the catalogue of possible data available and decide what can be the most useful and _actionable._

"I want a full list of every specimen part of this AI, with their real world names."

"List compiled. Total number of specimen exceeds ten thousand."

Damn. I can't read that number in two minutes, even if it's just names. Time to take a hunch "Send it to the computer in my pocket."

"Compliance." The machine says, just before I feel a brief vibration from the device. Okay, so some _real_ data to look at later. That's good. What else can I get here?"

"Send me a list of every bank account, safe house and other assets you have in your records, along with everything I need to know to access them." There are few things quite as 'actionable' as hard, real resources belonging to shady conspiracies, after all.

But that's done now. What else?

"What positions comprise the HCC?"

"The High Council is comprised of Dr Mindbender, Destro, Baroness, Tomax, Xamot, Zartan, and the Shinobi, with a number of candidate members."

Okay, so that told me nothing! What else? I can't bother with detailed information, the counter's running!"

"Tell me the names of all members."

"Invalid request. User not cleared for information."

Okay, now _this_ is making me want to pull my hair out. What kind of moronic classification system is this? What can I access and what can't I? But asking for an elaboration on the system will just waste time I don't have.

"Tell me everything you _can_ tell me about the members."

"The current Baroness is not European, the first time in five hundred years. The behavior of the current Xamot has been erratic as of late. There are indications he intend to turn himself in for the sake of his daughter, currently part of the FBI. There have been disruptions noted in the last year regarding one of the businesses established by Tomax in partnership with the last Doctor Mindbender, centered in New York city. There is-"

I stop it with a wave of a hand. None of this information makes sense without context. And I have barely – I look at the display in my HUD – a minute to get context.

"Access the latest news you have. Filter it for relevance to me."

"The Shinobi organization that abducted you and trained you did so as a part of the Apotheosis Initiative. Another candidate was maneuvered into another organization's path, and he's only just gotten himself freed and back to his city here." The computer emphasizes the last, just as a map of the American East Coast flashes with a prominent red dot. I set the data aside, determining to look at it later, even as the machine moves on.

"A data assimilation project designed for your use was stolen from the CIA by this man" a face flashes on the screen. That's… Neal? Huh. I'll need to… the computer moves on, seemingly in a hurry of it's own. "Your personal intervention with Project SN-APCL-J was noted and appreciated. It had been a brainchild of the previous Dr Mindbender, before Mr Valentine. Probability rests at 98% that the scheme was put in motion for the exact purpose it achieved.

Hang on. Waitwaitwait. I dimly realize that the computer's moved on to other data, but I can't, not just yet. Prague was _designed_? For me? In what world does that make any kind of sense? I mean, just… And I'm just about out of time, too.

"Who was the previous Dr Mindbender? Before Valentine, I mean." I interrupt the machine just as it's telling me something about the upcoming American presidential election candidates. I don't expect to recognize the name or be able to make much of it, considering the situation, but it would be a pretty good place to start investigating and

"Warning. Two minutes to Poison One, Internal taking effect. You are recommended to evacuate ASAP."

"Yes, okay. I'll do that. First tell me, who was the previous Mindbender, who orchestrated Prague?"

"It was Nigel Montague, son of His Grace Duke Wilfred Montague, husband of Lady Eleanor Montague. Your Father."

Okay, _what._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	12. Chapter 12

"It was worse than we thought."

I jerk upwards from where I was texting Roxy on our spectacles about my field test. "Um, I'm not sure that's possible, Merlin. Like… at all."

"Oh, you'd better believe it is, Lamorak. According to the data we have and independent confirmations on top of it, we're looking at well over a thousand people who were part of this. And each of them is a global personality. There are CEOs, Religious leaders, Presidents and Prime Ministers, the whole nine yards involved in this. There is… I mean, bloody hell, you could have ruled the world with this level of penetration!"

"And the means?"

"Yeah, you were right about that. Turns out a guy who can invent rage-waves can also invent 'suggestibility' waves. We found the emitter implanted at the back of his head. Analyses of Arthur's and the guards' brains confirmed it."

"What level are we talking? Full control at will, or subliminal messages, influence in their dreams, what?"

Merlin shakes his head, looking relieved. "None of that, thankfully. No, the way it seems to have worked is that it made the user stupidly susceptible to one specific idea. It's… okay, you know how we don't use most of our brain at any given time, or we'd have a stroke? The waves… irradiate is the best word I can use, certain parts of the inactive sections so they start reinforcing the idea to the larger sections. It's really, really advanced science, and the best of our scientists have barely started to scratch the surface."

Okay, that's… that's surprising. 'The best' of Kingsman scientists is saying something. I mean, yeah, I've seen how advanced Valentine's tech is from his encryptions and the construction of his inner base, but still, one would expect there to be better results when you've had over a week to work on a perfect collection of samples of such variety and condition that any biologist would give their tits for.

Seriously, I've spent four days cleaning up Valentine's guards from his ancillary bases, and all of them have been tossed into the study cells. We have white, black and brown people, oriental people, males and females, people ill and in perfect health… practically the full range of human biological variations.

But if the teams can't figure out more than 'well maybe they told some parts of the brain to convince the other parts' with all that… well, I hesitate today that we're fucked… but we're kinda fucked.

"So what do we do with 'em?" Egg- Galahad asks the question. The one most of the room has been dreading, even after we cleared them all. I mean, I don't care. But the Queen is on the list of the targets… afflicted by Valentine.

"I was coming to that. It's good news!" Merlin chirps. I mean he literally chirps, like a bird. And to have him so happy, it has to be pretty good news. Turns out, it is.

"As it turns out, these modifications required reinforcement to hold. Not much, thanks to the changes made already, but a regular stream of subliminal signals was being sent to each target via their implants to maintain the drive in their heads. Now with the implants having been rendered inactive, we expect the mental influence to wash away in a few weeks, and with the objective already rendered irrelevant… well, other than arranging for the implants to be removed as discreetly as possible, we don't actually have to do anything, it turns out."

"Awesome!" Eggsy again. But by now everyone is smiling and the atmosphere is lighter than it's been for weeks. This is more than a basic 'report', you see. It appears the Valentine operation can finally be wrapped up. Merlin dismisses the meeting a few moments later and one by one the projections from distant Kingsman offices are shut off, the agents dismissing themselves. A few make parting comments and a few wish us luck, but most just switch the systems off, until we're left with just the real people in the room.

And it can't be soon enough. With this whole… mess behind me, I can finally put my mind to thinking about other things. Specifically, just what the fuck was dad doing? How was he mixed up in this conspiracy shit? I thought he was a scientist, for fuck's sake! He did R&D for the family businesses! And Doctor Mindbender? What the fuck kind of name is that? Was 'Dark Emperor Adolf De Sade' taken?

No, wait. No point getting worked up. I take in and let out several steady breaths, focusing on the image of absolute whiteness. I can feel my agitation die off. There's no point getting worked up about this.

And it's a good thing I can clear my mind so quickly because Merlin's calling for me. "Eddy, listen. About that piece of jewellery you mentioned…

I catch the ring just before it hits me in the face. It's an impressive piece, thicker than it appeared on the photograph, but it's the same ring as the one I saw in the photograph. At least it's a similar one, if not that same one.

"I found it on Valentine after I… y'know. Any idea what it is?" Eggsy speaks up even as I'm framing my question. I look at him, straight in the eye. I can probably trust him, but… no. Not just yet.

"Some. I'm going to look into it, see just what it's all about. Once I have a clue I'll share."

Eggsy seems on the verge of saying something when Tristan chimes in from the other side of the table "Works for me." Dammit, he's been eerily quiet for… a few minutes? Maybe not that eerily, then. But he sat in a corner near the head of the table and was pretty engaged in something. Politicking about the election for the next Arthur? Possibly.

I'm not likely to know, since, with a wave to Roxy and Eggsy and a handshake with Merlin, Tristan walks out of the room, still focused seemingly at empty air, which means he's looking at something on his HUD.

But his words have made it rather awkward for others to question me on my caginess, which was, of course, the point. I nod at him as he leaves, before turning back to Eggsy. "Don't worry, it's just a lead I'm developing. There isn't anything to tell right now, just some hints and rumours. Once there's substance, I'll tell you and we can get in together to knock heads. Happy?"

He smiles. He's a nice guy, Eggsy. I used to think he might be too nice for this line of work, but then I learned but the death toll at Valentine's secondary facility, which sure nixed that idea.

But he nods at me, and that's it. Roxy's doing a very good job of pretending she's not paying any attention. If I didn't know better, such as the time and place of when she means to interrogate me, I'd almost believe it, too. Almost.

"Well, that's all for today. There are a number of projects pending and reports that need following up on. Get some rest, get back to your families and set up work stations. You're Kingsman agents now, let's get you started on the perks of it, eh?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It's a five-minute walk from the helipad to the sitting room where my grandfather summoned me. That's actually by the rather fast paces I take, anyone else would cover the same ground in as much as ten to fifteen minutes. The castle is an old one, dating back to when Edward Longshanks built a whole network of them as part of his attempt to brings Wales to heel.

This one, Denbigh Castle, was held by a variety of people, some even entitled to hold it, before it ended up in the hands of one William Montagu, then a minor noble in the King's service. Of course, one trait of my family in this world I've been finding out is that once something comes into our grasp… we just don't let go.

And so today it's one of the homes of the great Duke Wilfred Montague, and a backup HQ for Montague International Holdings, the company he heads. I mean it's also one of the largest companies in the world, but I know my grandfather. The first part matters more to him. He takes the second part as an obvious an expected thing given the first, I mean.

But that's not important. The fact that I use every bit of Parkour, dirty trick and surreptitious teleporting to cover a five-minute distance in three minutes is. There are advantages of being early, you see. The meeting is being held in Wilfred's office, off in the central tower of the castle where the Lord's chambers have been for them… oh, the last five hundred years or so.

I get there to find the corridor outside the room clear, thankfully. Which lets me get into position with the machinery and tools needed. I mean, I'm not exactly planning the Italian Job here. Just eavesdropping.

"-sure he can do it? Field Ops is a big job, especially at our end. Last I saw him we were crawling from one drug den to another with needles in his arms and a whore at his cock." I almost pause at hearing this. Not for the comment about me, it's an understatement if anything. No, it's due to the pretty weird dichotomy of these words coming from perhaps one of the most gentle, venerable voices I've heard. He sounds like…

"Is this true, old friend? Because I cannot understate the importance of this, and I've seen what drugs do to people, especially young people."

This is said in another calm and gentle voice, heavy with age. And then the one I was waiting for "Yes, I'm bloody well sure! He's his mother's son, don't you forget, and he's just passed the toughest training course on this planet. He's ready."

Ah. See? One could sooner get a politician to tell the truth than get Wilfred to say such a thing about me to my face. I don't know just what it is about giving people complements to their faces that he hates, but I can't say I like it in him.

In the room, the pronouncement is followed by silence before it's broken with the first man just saying "If you say so, my friend. If you say so."

I still have a couple minute or so of margin before I'm expected, but I see someone coming down the corridor, so that's the end of that.

Instead, I take several steps backwards, smooth out my hair, and just walk ahead and knock on the door loudly and clearly.

"Come in" that's Wilfred's voice.

I step in, taking an instinctive look around the room. And… okay, so a meeting it is!

I take in all the faces present, looking to the whole world like an old friends' reunion. Well, with one exception, but we'll come to that.

"Welcome back, Eddie! Come on, sit, sit!"

I go ahead and do it, plonking my behind in a sofa opposite of Wilfred. A second once-over provides more concrete data. The room is Wilfred's office, of course, with a table dominating the far wall, holding the latest computer and a bookshelf right alongside it. Towards the centre, there are a few sofas, where the gathering is happening, as I can see.

My attention first goes to my grandfather, of course. He's wearing his spectacles, which I believe are either an equal or a superior version of mine. He looks the spitting image of Ian Mcshane, ready to call down thunder and cause continent-wide draughts any moment now.

[SPOILER="Wilfred Montague"] [/SPOILER]

Each of the old guys is an old, old veteran, and right now they're all pretty damn busy with fancy, high-end paperwork and stuff like that… again, except one guy.

It's not even hard to tell. Remember how people can get small deformations on their fingers because they use the pen too much? All three of the super-old people here have those. They also have that oh-so-specific body posture and neck curvature, if just the barest traces, that's a trademark of Smartphone/laptop usage. Those, along with… okay look, they're doing a lot of paperwork. Take my word for it.

All of them except for one guy. Now you might imagine why I'm coming back to him over and over again, but trust me, there's a reason. See, imagine a meeting of four people. Three of them look like rich, influential people, dressed and just… well, their appearance. And with them is an Afghan Warlord. You'd be surprised too, I bet.

"So, Eddie? I heard you… people lost old Chester. Tragic, really. I liked Chester."

Oh, I bet he did. It's the accent that confirms he's American, to me. I heard it from the outside, but that was through a reproduction tool that stripped out the accents. Now I can tell. Boston, in all probability. And an upper-class one on top of it, the Boston Brahmins as they're called.

Oh, and he's Beau Bridges. Just FYI. Like… I can tell he's important, just because he looks like an actor I can name off the top of my head. That's the tropes this world works by. And yes, it's 'tropes', not 'rules'.

[SPOILER="Paul Devereaux"] [/SPOILER]

Okay, wait. Hang on. Boston Brahmin, a known associate of my grandfather, and discussing what seems at first glance to be some kind of Op. Could this be…

Possibly. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I nod as sincerely as I can manage. "It is. I didn't know him very well, but everyone says he was great.

"Oh, he was. He was the best of us, in more ways than one." This is Ian Mackellan, speaking in the poshest London accent I've heard in my life. Including Wilfred, and that's saying something!

[SPOILER="Nigel Irvine"] [/SPOILER]

I turn towards the third stranger for an instant, not to show as if I expect condolences from him too but rather to just hint whether or not he's cleared to know about this topic. Again, this is a guy sitting in a meeting of two people I now recognize as high-level spymasters (well, the glasses' HUD identified them, really, but yeah) and one of the world's richest and most powerful businessmen, and he looks better fir to go into the caves hunting Al-Zawahiri.

And really, I'm, not just talking his getup. Not to be racist or anything, but people look different, and he looks very different. More like I looked, once.

[SPOILER="Izmat Khan/Mike Martin"] [/SPOILER]

My grandfather is the quickest to get it.

My grandfather is the quickest to get it.

"Oh, don't worry about Mike. There isn't much he isn't cleared to know.

Mike? He's called Mike? "Mike?"

He laughs at my question, before hurrying "Oh, so silly of me. Let me do the introductions. Eddie, this is Paul Devereaux" he indicates Beau Bridges, before moving on to Ian. "And this is Sir Nigel Irvine. Paul, Nigel, this is Eddie."

Then he moves to the third guy. "And Eddie, this is the best spy never trained by Kingsman. Meet Colonel Mike Martin of the SAS, formerly on long-term secondment to the SIS. Also known as Izmat Khan, once field commander of the Taliban, now Head of Security for the Al- Qaeda."

Ah. Okay... that'd do it, I suppose.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The story came out quickly afterwards, in rather more detail than I'd have expected was it being told to me alone. As it was, it was primarily for the benefit of Mr Devereaux, so at least that part made sense.

Speaking of which… I mean I managed not to react, but Paul Devereaux. Paul fucking Devereaux. I'd read about this man, not once but twice. Once in an air-conditioned bunker while having a physical file in my hands, which was about a couple months ago, and the other time several years ago, hanging upside down in the thin air of a Japanese mountaintop, while new initiates took potshots at me with shurikens.

He's a man both Kingsman and old man Ozunu considered as one of the most dangerous in the world, and that… well y'know, that means something. His last position, before leaving the CIA, was Director, CTC. That's the counter-terrorism center if you don't know. And wouldn't you know it, fanatics trained in faraway mountains coming in to assassinate prominent US citizens come under their purview!

Not that the letter soup agencies of this world care all that much about things like 'purview', but that's a story for another time. Point is, this man is a living legend. Before CTC he was in Counterintelligence, where he was almost single-handedly responsible for finally ripping out a particularly cancerous tumour by the name of Aldrich Ames… the list goes on.

Really, the only reason he's not DCI today is that Project Peregrine failed. It was his brainchild, something he threw all the Agency's resources into for the whole of 1996-2000. The purpose of the project? Hunt and kill a certain little-known Saudi Oil heir who was faffing about in Afghanistan. Mind you, this was years before 2001, and he was the only one who had a clue just what that guy would develop into once he got his shit in order.

… in case it's not clear, that guy was called Usama Bin Laden.

And the other man, Ian Mackellan is no less impressive. I don't find myself shocked because I've met him before. But this man didn't so much fight the cold war as he defined it, in the later years. Nigel Irvine is the Grey Fox, and if his achievements are nowhere as flashy as Devereaux, they're no less significant.

Anyway, the story wasn't about these guys. Instead, it was about Mike Martin, the British Special Agent who looks like an Arab version of Sunil Shetty. I mean, if this is an action movie then that's a guy who managed to do well! He never really managed to get into Hollywood where I'm from.

So he's a long term infiltrator the MI6 managed to insert into Al-Qaeda as a ringer for a real guy called Izmat Khan who was once held at Gitmo. All records show he never broke under any kind of treatment until he was finally extradited back to Afghanistan, where he managed to escape after a brief struggle.

Naturally, that has to be the point where Mr Martin was inserted. So… seven, running on eight years of insertion. He's managed to climb high into the organization, right into the inner circle… and in the years since then, he's foiled no less than a dozen separate attacks. Nearly twenty key operatives are now in prisons across Europe and the US, and he did it all without ever coming out.

"But just now they found out?"

Martin nods hastily, seemingly affected by his thinking back to his experiences. "Yes. Someone came to meet him, and he decided to switch everything around after it. They called me back to his palace in Mosul, but I got a tip from… someone. They knew, and they were going to kill me."

Before I can even start to mention the half a dozen questions this gives me, Wilfred interjects. "Who, Mike. We need to know."

Martin looks like a deer caught in headlights. Then he smiles a bit, before speaking "One of his wives. I, uh… got to know her…"

"Nevermind" Sir Nigel interjects quickly. "Go on. Where was he the last you knew?"

"He'd been offered shelter by one of the governments, I heard. I fear it's Syria. They want him to call off his new puppets from their borders, maybe even get them to soften up Iraq before an invasion."

Okay, I can't resist. "Who? Who was offered shelter by Syria?"

He stares at me incredulously. So do the others, before Sir Nigel gently smiles and shakes his head "Right, that part was covered before you arrived. UBL is alive, Mr Montague."

What? But, I read the reports. I watched the footage! There's no way… that those couldn't have been falsified. Huh. As much as I try to remain genre-savvy, these nasty things called 'assumptions' still get me.

"In fact, that was how we inserted Mike here. He warned Laden of the attack imminent on him!"

… of course. I can even see the reason. "Huh. A dead Laden is a political point. A live one is an unlimited source of information on Al-Qaeda."

"Which he shares freely with the man who saved his life at such great risk!" My grandfather positively crows. I've… I've never seen him like this, not with my own eyes and not in 'pre-insertion' Eddy's memories. It has to be his old friends bringing this out in him.

And certainly, as coups go this one is epic, playing with fire as it is. Inserting someone that close, while at the same time establishing him as above suspicion would be a trick next-to-impossible. But if there's anything you know about terrorists like Laden, it's that they are, to their bones, spineless cowards when it comes down to their lives. They'll spend the faithful by the thousands, but having to stare real danger in the face? Always, always a deal breaker.

And so someone who saved them from certain death… certainly, that's one way to get nominated as 'guy I trust above all else'. And with the 'Sheikh', as animals of his ilk call him, backing you… yes, I can explain the career growth of one Izmat Khan now.

"And that trust allowed me to do a lot. But now… Al-Isra was just too much, Nigel. They knew they had someone at the very top after then."

The man names nod. "Well, you saved the lives of the whole of the Western leadership by blowing away Al-Isra, Mike. It's okay. You're done with the worst part, now it's time to sit back and relax and reap the benefits. Wilfred, if you would explain…"

Wilfred steps in smoothly. "In a minute, Nigel. Mike, I'll request you to please just summarize what we discussed before Eddy came in? We did just decide he is to be the field operative on our end, after all."

I recognize the sign Martin suppresses! It's one of the typical long-suffering agent's reactions at 'yet another fuckin' debrief!" #37. Then he starts.

"There's an operation being mounted by the Al-Qaeda. We don't know the details, but there are girls being abducted from the United States presumably for a televised display of some kind eventually. I knew about it when I saw them arrive, but I had no idea about the source. I was in the middle of finding out when I had to run because someone stepped in."

"Yes, we'll come back to that. Right now, we know that the girls are being lifted from America because the people doing the abductions sold a few of them to finance their operational expenses once we took out the 'Hawala' link thanks to Mike's information." Sir Nigel speaks up, apparently trying to just get through this so we can get to more productive things. I understand the feeling. By the way, a 'hawala' link is basically the undocumented, terrorist version of Western Union. "And we found out about that by…"

"Their buyer was a man called Patrice St. Clair, in Paris. He headed some kind of slavery ring covering most of Europe."

I nod at this. Patrice St Clair… it takes me a second to recall the name. It was on one of Jorgi's files, an old customer who had since started preferring some Albanians as his suppliers. His operation was pretty swanky as these things go, from what I recall. Sheikhs and kings, billionaires and cabinet ministers only, the whole 'you can't afford the merchandise if you need to ask the price' deal.

"St Clair was thoroughly respectable on all levels we could tell. His wife, mistresses, business partners… no one had any clue about his, ah, 'supplementary business'" Sir Nigel continues.

And then Paul Devereaux speaks up. "But then he brought in some very… unwise merchandise."

I raise an eyebrow "Unwise?"

He picks up a dossier from the table, tossing it at the middle. "His suppliers gave him a girl whose father… how shall I put this? He disagreed with the prospect of seeing his baby girl being turned into a drugged up whore. Given as he was one of my best field operatives before retiring, you can imagine the rest." He finishes, with an expansive gesture towards the dossier I suppose holds the details of the story.

Ah. I can indeed.

I turn to grandfather "So let me get this straight. Al-Qaeda was abducting American girls for some purpose. We knew that they were getting the girls, but not the country. Then there's this guy in Paris who bought a few of the girls."

"Yes. After his death, we were able to get one of our lawyers to oversee his estate's proceedings. We found the info through there, one of his Townhouses that served as the base of the ring."

"Okay. Okay…" I mean this is convoluted as fuck, but with this world, what did I expect? "Why were you taking that much interest in Paris anyway? Or am I wrong in assuming it was you who found it?"

Please don't say you are a rival human trafficker. I mean, I don't think he is, but knowing my family and my grandfather, it wouldn't be that ridiculous an assumption. Montagues be shady as fuck, yo.

"Believe it or not, I was investigating to ensure that another death was true as reported."

Ah. Good. I really don't know what I would have said if he'd said he was a slaver. "Who, out of curiosity?"

"Oh, no one important, now. But once he was a thorn who came close to denying us close to five billion dollars a year. The dictator, or as he would like it, 'Le president de la Republique du Zangaro'. He's dead, thankfully, and the successor we installed is holding up our licenses, but it was touch and go for a minute."

If Sir Nigel gives a damn about this, he doesn't show it. But Paul does perk up slightly. "So it was you? Kramer must have asked me a dozen times. It cost us an awful lot to install Wombosi, y'know."

"And in doing so you killed a man I'd been grooming for decades to take over the place. An Oxford education, a mythical story built up around him on the ground, military training, careful association with western politicians… and the CIA crashed the plane that was supposed to bring him to the country he was meant to rule."

Okay, this is getting silly. I open my mouth to interject… but I can see Sir Nigel is also about to say something. But that's alright because I see something else entirely. Mike Martin is staring at something so hard it looks like his eyes will pop out.

"Something the matter, Mr Martin?" I speak out perhaps louder than I meant to. The way it gets the others to pipe down is gratifying, at least."

He's hesitant, even as he leans down and picks up what he was staring at. It's a Polaroid, a photograph from the dossier Paul tossed at the table.

My grandfather reacts first, again "What is it, Mr Martin?"

"Okay, so I only got a brief look so I can't be absolutely sure… but I believe the man who came to meet Laden just before they found me out looked exactly like this."

Well now. What's this, then? Another Apotheosis Initiative pair? It has to be. There are natural lookalikes, but they don't look that similar. And considering the man, I'm talking to and the tropes of this world, 'nearly' means 'take it to the bank"

"Did you catch his name?" I'm suddenly aware of myself asking. I'm also leaning forward, staring intently at Martin. It's okay, I do that.

He shrugs slightly, before continuing "I don't know his actual name, but I caught the nickname Al-Zawahiri called him. He said the Head of the Demon was coming to visit."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

So, this chapter was supposed to cover us launching headfirst into the 'Investigation' jump section of things, but simply setting it up got too big, and it's been so long since a chapter anyway. Again, references and hooks galore, but trust me, everything has a place. I have experience with 'throwing everything I can get into the story and seeing what comes out', and this isn't... exactly that.

Good news is, I'm going to have some spare time coming up in the near future, so I should at least be able to get back to the '1 chapter/week' rate, if not faster.


	13. Chapter 13

"So what was that all about?" I'm sitting in one of the sofas in the ground floor parlor, a place where the family holds its most… how to say it, 'frank' meetings. That is, it's lead-lined and surrounded by not one, not two, but three separate soundproofed halls, with a whole array of emitters down the hall blasting plain white 'noise' at us to further drown out any meaningful information a hypothetical bug could have recorded.

It also makes using my spectacle HUD impossible, but such are the prices one pays for secrecy. And in any case, knowing my grandfather I can't be sure he doesn't consider it a feature.

"What? It was just a meeting of old friends and allies to conduct some business!"

"That just happened to be being held in the same house you summoned me to? The same hall _,_ even?"

He actually smiles! It's one of his infuriating smiles, the ones where he does his level best to look like the proverbial 'mysterious old man'. "I have no idea what you mean. What other house would I invite them to?"

"How about one of the places not owned in our name? Or the yacht? Or the plane? Or hell, _here?_ That wasn't a discussion you hold anywhere the most secure places you have access to." I try to project some real anger at this point, enough to make it appear like I'm incensed at least. I mean, this isn't beyond anything I'd expect from him. But if I show him my ambivalence he'll do it _even more_ , so yeah, appearances.

And it does seem to work, thankfully. "Well, I might as well tell you. That was me introducing you to a certain… circle of society, shall we say, that you'll one day be expected to join fully. It's our own little version of the proverbial 'old boys' network.', if you will." He adopts a thoughtful expression here "Actually I think it might be the origin of the term."

"What, the Illuminati? Pulling the strings of governments the world over from the shadows?"

He doesn't say anything. Wait for just one second. This… he can't be…

"Wait, you're _actually_ the Illuminati? What, like complete with the elements and stuff? Upside down words that read the same?"

He snorts at this, finally "Don't be silly. Those idiots were caught by the church ages ago. I personally inspected all their paraphernalia in the Vatican vaults last year. No, we're much more recent."

I wait. When he looks at me, I finally have to speak up "Well?"

"Well, there's not much to say! Several decades ago some men and women of wealth, power and influence felt that they could each expand all three of those things by working together. And that they might even do some good in the process. Since then, there have been associations and councils that have formed, so we can pool together our influences and resources, and shape the state of things across the world to make things more conducive to our interests. As for names, there have been several. You can call us the Council of Lincoln, or Inver Brass, Aquitaine or any of a myriad other names."

Well, that's… I mean I can't say I'd _hoped_ they'd be sinister hooded people chanting around a colorful fire, but that would certainly have been more interesting than this, no?

"I see. And right now, you're working towards the New World Order, I suppose? To achieve… what exactly is it you want to achieve, exactly?"

"If you stop acting like a gnat on a sugar rush, I might even be able to say something? The 'new World Order'… hah!" He snorts derisively, presumably laughing at the conspiracy theorists. "We _were_ working towards a New World Order. Decades ago. And now, guess what? You're living it. This _is_ the New World Order."

I remain silent. It's best to let him get it all out, when he gets like this. "As for the current plans the group is working towards, that is something you cannot know just yet. Not till you take my seat at the table. Or get your own, of course."

Oh, _bullshit._ I have to speak up here. "Yeah, right. Because old people with calcified mentalities are going to allow new people among you just like that."

"Well, your father managed it. Why don't you show me if you're half the man he was?"

I… I don't have an answer to that. My parents are a weak point in this world for me, considering how I'm simultaneously trying to remember them and yet keep the memory of my original parents enshrined. It's… nevermind. This is not the time to dwell on this anyway.

"Anyway, this was your introduction to the group. In little time now, you will have the eyes of some of the most influential men and women in the world on you. Perform, as I know you can, and there is no limit you cannot breach, no ambition that cannot be achieved."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Now I'd really appreciate if you got on with it. I know something is coming, and judging by how much you're dancing around it, I know it's not going to be pleasant. Hit me with whatever it is."

He seems to be surprised at this, before it's concealed. So he didn't expect me to be able to figure it out, at least this quickly. I feel a touch of reassurance at the reminder that even Wilfred Montague _is_ fallible, after all.

"Yes, well, there is an old tradition that needs to be fulfilled, and as it happens, certain legal niceties that must be observed. We have a unique opportunity to do both."

I just wait. He'll come to it at his own pace. It's never been any use trying to rush him along. Better men than me have tried.

"There are a number of businesses you're heir to, from your grandmother's side. That'll be your father's mother, my wife. Angeline was the heiress to one of the oldest of New York's Old Money families, and inherited several companies that she passed on to your father. After his death I managed to be named Chairman of the Trust, and only after great struggle, I assure you. But that's all contingent on you taking up the reins… well, now, really."

Ah. That's surprisingly… mundane? I was expecting it to be part of some kind of archaic old-

"There is also an old tradition of our house. You need to spend a few years out of the Nest, per se, in order to develop yourself. So you can know how the real world is like, and try and carve your own place into it. Y'know, all that jazz."

"I see. And the real reason?"

"We got tired of father-son duels."

"And so the answer was to kick the kid out of the home?"

He blinks. "Home? Edward, I'm kicking you out of the _country._ You're going to America for the foreseeable future. You can leave for wherever you want, but I would recommend against coming back to Britain?"

"And if I was to, all the same?"

"… then you would be provided a residence and accommodations? What do you want me to say here? It would be _you_ living with the knowledge that you couldn't do something dozens of generations before you have had no trouble with. No skin off my nose."

"I… dammit." Is what I'm expected to say, so I do. Let's be honest here, mine isn't a family that cares about traditions. But if Wilfred is taking this track, it means there's something here that's important. And so I might as well concede, it saves time.

"But enough about all that. You'll be leaving at the weekend, so you'll have the whole of next week to get settled before things come knocking for you."

"Grandfather… the weekend is tomorrow. Today's Thursday."

"Why yes it is!" he says in mock delight. I take the hint and shut up.

"And of course, before you go don't forget your friend here!"

My friend? He means… I turn around towards the door at the sounds of footsteps, even as a big, brown monstrosity of fur and claws launches itself at me. "Churchill!" is all I can say before I hit the ground, the wolf-life dog on my chest.

He's the happiest I've ever seen him, tongue hanging wide as he licks me over and over again.

"Euck. Geroff, you mangy furball!" I push him off, but not without grooming him a couple times so he doesn't feel bad. I look back at Wilfred, only to see him smirking.

Well, I guess I'd better start getting things in order. I'm going to America!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Of course_ the house isn't ready yet. I don't bother with saying anything to the local caretakers, knowing that the man responsible was probably smiling into his teacup. Why my grandfather continues with these _infantile_ things is beyond me, but I can't be damned to care anymore.

And y'know, I was considering asking him about Cobra? Between the influence he wields as a matter of course and his 'friends', he should certainly know more than what I've been able to figure out, which is… bizarre. But _fuck that noise_. This is my thing, my legacy or puzzle or whatever dad made of it. It's the last thing I know my father was involved in, and considering that he and grandpa stopped talking years before his death… let the old bastard wonder. Serves him right for this exile.

So, here we are, in America! I arrived this morning, about two hours ago, and now I'm in one of the best hotels in New York, supposedly, though it certainly hasn't been looking like it so far. It's one of mine too, which makes it twice as painful. I mean, it's way better than a small green plastic figure, which it was when I 'bought' it, but still.

I have the best suite in the hotel, where I'm staying till they get the papers ready at the Lawyers' offices and we can move along the whole process of me claiming this part of my inheritances. That should be tomorrow, after which I'll need to… well, what I'll need to do will depend largely on what I find in those papers, really.

But now that I'm here, I might as well… the door to the suite just opened. I strain my ears a touch; it's not the soft pad of an Ozunu assassin. The stride doesn't have a scrap of training behind it, and there's a faint whiff of perfume, so not one of the 'ordinary' spies either.

Then I emerge from the inner room, and look at the maid that's taking toiletries out of a trolley and putting them in. My attention shifts from her to the well-dressed, smart looking manager standing next to her, directing her efforts. He spies me from the corner of his eye, and I can see his shoulders straighten as he gets even more into showing me how much work he's doing.

It was only a matter of time, but I still feel a twinge for my dead anonymity. Someone downstairs looked me up on the company network, I'd guess. And they told others, which mean the whole city will know by this time tomorrow. I'll have to… have to…

I'm aware that I've frozen up. It's just… I just got a _real_ look at the maid. And not for the first time, I have to wonder just what it is that's _wrong_ with this world. What kind of event chain can there be, that leads to _Mia Maestro_ ending up as a Hotel Maid?

I mean, really?

This seems to be the ticket for her to notice me as well. And after an age, for the first time since Prague, really… I don't bother to leash any of my perks. I let the full force of every charisma and dominance perk I have hit her right in the face, and I must say, the way her mouth opens and her cheeks color makes her look _even_ more delectable.

Y'know, they kept telling me 'all that happens, happens for the best'. I might just start believing it, one of these days.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mira was aware of the guest's eyes on her. It was hard not to be, considering how she kept finding herself tracing his powerful arms, folded as he talked to the manager, and when she traced her legs from where she was bent over looking under the bed to hints of muscled calves, and over them…

But at least she was just looking! She could practically _feel_ his eyes as physical things, trailing across her form. When she first looked him in the eye, she could feel her nipples hardening as she started to poke through the shirt, feeling almost as if someone care tweaking them under her shirt.

And when he oh-so-obviously lowered his eyes across her body down to her toes, and raised them back up, taking in every inch of her, she could feel ghostly traces run across her pussy, teasing and exciting till it was all she could do to remain still.

The dance continued as he talked to the manager who had come with her, the toad practically begging at the guest's feet. Not surprising what she knew of him and the fact that this guy was supposed to be the owner, not just of this hotel but the whole chain. Not that she could bring herself to care about any of that at the moment.

She found herself wondering how his cock would feel ramming into her, her back against the wall or the huge bed, or even just the floor. How it would feel when he ripped open her apron and dress and mounted her right in front of the asshole…

The maid shook her head, cheeks flaring with a blush. What was she thinking! They hadn't even spoken to each other, she didn't even know him! How could she… and the manager just left, leaving her and the guest alone in the room.

She very deliberately turned aside, trying to finish off her work as soon as possible. She was at the desk now, putting in some stationary and checking the pens for ink. But a bit through it she couldn't help but glance at the man yet again. She found him looking right at her, in a way that left there no doubt that he was staring at her ass. As she met her eyes, she felt a twinge, as if someone had just tried to poke a finger into her anus.

She jumped at that, standing ramrod straight even as the sensation started to fade. But then he, Eddie Montague as the manager had called him, got off his desk. He walked over to her, in a gait that reminded her of jungle predators, and even as she tried to muster up her will to say something, she found her own voice failing her.

The sensations at her back had gone away entirely now, replaced by something that felt like her being gripped, her ass being mauled and kneaded by invisible hands. She could have tried to remove them, to just free herself or whatever, but, to her shock, she found she just didn't _want_ to.

And then he was on her. The man she had been entranced by ever since she first saw him loomed over her, face descending over hers even as she leaned back. She mustered some traces of her will someone, and raised a hand to try and push him, to at least put up a pretext.

Instead, he caught it, and then, with a jerk, used it to pull her closer to him. She might have said something in protest, had his lips not descended on hers moments later, taking her into the fieriest and most intense kiss she'd ever felt. She felt herself lifted into the air with immense strength, and her ass placed on the edge of the desk.

At the same time she could feel his hands travelling her body, one pushing under her shirt and bra to cup her breasts, playing with and lavishing attention on her nipples, while the other went further south. Soon it was inside her skirt, and pushing aside her panties. A second later she felt a finger enter her, and it was all she could do not to scream as the sheer pleasure threatened to overtake her mind.

Her own hands could do little but clutch at the desk for dear life, her grip growing tighter with every second.

Every touch of his skin on her made Mira feel as if she was on fire, bombs of sensation and sheer _pleasure_ exploding within her over and over. With every passing second she felt her orgasm building, growing as a knot she felt somewhere in her stomach.

As the first finger moving in and out of her was joined by a second, Mira squirmed even more, breaking the kiss to let out a long moan that was interrupted when Eddie seized her lips once again. The knot tightened even faster as his tongue battled hers, wrestling for several pleasure filled seconds before forcing it into submission.

The former refugee was almost delirious with pleasure now, feeling it almost impossible to think or act without letting out a scream. When the contact stopped for a second as he stepped away from her she moaned out loud, reaching out blindly to pull him back in, only to yelp as she felt a hand touch her wais, so near the one already pistoning in and out of her pussy.

Then she moaned yet again, at the sensation that was unleashed when he touched her for a single, prolonged second. Then he hooked a finger under the waistband of her panties, and peeled them off in a single, smooth motion. A second later this hand replaced the one in her quim, while the other hand, drenched with her juices, reached her face.

When two dripping wet fingers entered her mouth, Mira attacked them with her tongue, the sheer _perversity_ oflicking off her own juices from a stranger's hand too much to resist. She didn't know what had come over her, she was normally so…

When he first touched her nipples with his tongue Mira _screamed_ , a loud scream that was shut down immediately by his hand clamping over her mouth. She could feel her hands leave the desk and reach downwards, grasping for his cock, and she felt him gently stop her, murmuring something she was in no state to understand.

And then she could fell it, the building force in her abdomen that told her that her orgasm had reached a critical point, and a climax was building. Somehow it kept on building long past where she would have cum normally, the sustained barrage of sensations taking her higher and higher as his ministrations became faster than ever, working several spots at the same time and pushing her right to the edge… before it vanished.

It was several minutes before Mira realized that she was standing next to the desk in the room, staring at the guest who was talking to someone on the phone in the balcony. Looking down, she was dressed as she had been, not a single button undone and not a single bit of it out of place. But hadn't her shirt been closer to her _waist_ a second ago… She shook herself. What was she _doing_?

Ignoring the aching _need_ she felt, Mira Dobrica finished up the work in the room as quickly as she could, rushing away before the guest, Edward Montague if she recalled right, noticed how long she'd taken.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"And all those formalities got finished yesterday, so here I am!"

I nod at Yelena from where I'm sitting in my bed, working my way through my 'work' quickly. Seeing her was certainly a surprise, especially the way she is, but knowing that Gibbons set her up in the NSA is… good news. Surprising, considering her history, but really good.

I open my mouth to get some conversation in, but she just gestures at the packet at the bedside table. I pick it up, just as she pulls out a phone and starts reading something on it.

I open the packet to see a tablet and a set of earphones. Putting them on, I switch the phone on. The pinprick that comes out of the power button is expected, but annoying. Once it's done the DNA verification, I see a call starting.

While the call connects, I go through the other things in the package. There's a set of IDs, a few wads of cash, and… and an NSA identification card, along with a badge that identifies me as 'Lance Kruger, Senior Special Agent, Joint Operations Task Force'.

Now what is this thing supposed to be? I never had any kind of encyclopedic knowledge of the US's intelligence and law enforcement agencies, but I did watch a lot of TV about them, and there was never a mention of anything like… oh, the call connected.

"So, Agent Kruger! Job well done on the Prague end!"

Uhm… we've talked about Prague already. What's he got in mind now? "Thank you. I couldn't have done it without you." There. Vaguely disrespectful and joking. Now let's see where he takes this.

"Damn right you couldn't have. Thing is, I'm pretty sure _we_ couldn't have, either. So all bullshit aside, I want to talk to you, Kruger."

"Well, I'm right here."

"There's… weird shit coming out since the last few years. I mean, there's _always_ weird shit coming out in our line of work, but all the shit I've been seein'? Weirder than usual, even."

Huh. That lines up with my own studies, but then this is part of the nature of this world. "Such as?"

"Private companies started doing way shadier shit than usual, people start disappearing, people who've disappeared earlier start showing up… even the fucking criminals get weird. You heard about that St Clair guy in Paris?"

… frankly, I'm surprised _he's_ heard it. Two-bit criminals aren't usually the purview of top-rated intelligence agencies. I mention that yes, I did hear about Patrice St Clair, leaving out the 'how' of it. If he notices the absence, which _of course_ he did, he makes no mention.

"Yeah, now imagine a slaver going from cheap, easy and safe business, like getting their products from Eastern Europe and Asia where they can buy the Law Enforcement at the local K-mart, to abducting travelers.Rich and connected travelers, as often as not. And in fuckin' _Paris!_

"Does that make any sense to you? But it happened in the last year!"

…okay, that _is_ weird. While he's exaggerating the corruption of the East, it's not by much, and even in my old world human trafficking was a huge problem there. Here if they've switched to _abducting Westerners_ … something is rotten in the state of Denmark indeed.

And of course, it explains the NSA taking an interest in the matter too.

But that can't be all. I ask as much.

"It's not. In Paris alone, we have dead former dictators, a narco-terrorist plot targeting the ambassador, and all the other weird shit beside that!"

I'm about to say that that doesn't sound too out of the ordinary, but something in his eyes stops me. It's the way he looks up from his desk, straight in my eye. All hints of humor are gone, and in an instant I can see the reason why this man is regarded as one of the scariest and most effective motherfuckers on this planet.

"So, Agent Kruger. I didn't hire you to discuss what we already know. The NSA needs your brand of help to assist us in finding out things we _don't_ already know. Did you see the other things in the package already?"

"Just a moment before your call connected, yes."

"Then you're probably wondering what all that's about. I made you a full Agent of the NSA, and pulled a few strings to get you in on a couple other things. Joint operations, consulting options of law enforcement, all the latest groups. I want to you to get in and start digging. Look around and in the details, see what you find."

I can't help but spot a glaring, gaping hole in this 'plan' of his. I don't believe he _doesn't_ , either. So why…

"What am I going to be looking for, Director?" I go ahead and ask. No point trying to guess.

"Weird shit. Well, weirder than normal, in our business. I want you to look at the perps and terrorists that the agencies are hunting down or investigating, and compare their behavious over the years to their late behavior. If you find something noticeable, dig into all their files. Do that for a fee groups, and we'll see if something common shows up that could be motivating them, eh?"

That's… not a _bad_ plan. It's still vague as fuck and going to be rather more difficult in practice than me makes it sound, but the essential components required for it to work are all there. "What kind of support are you giving me?"

"Ah. That's the trick, ain't it? The thing about 'adopting' agents like you is, you need to be kept at Arms' length, at least in the beginning. So there's not going to be much in terms of NSA resources for you, at least in the beginning. Do good work, and I could get the sticks-in-the mud to approve the good shit."

' _But yeah, you'll be doing some of the toughest work in the world mostly unsupported_ ' goes unsaid, but I hear it loud and clear anyway.

After that there's more detail about the kind of work I could expect, and a number of half-hearted platitudes about something or the other. He finishes off with a sarcastic little message about how 'the assholes upstairs' are being silly about this, against his better judgment.

I don't say anything, even studiously controlling my expression. _Now_ is a weird time to get started on following rules… although I suppose there are rules and Rules.

"So get familiar with the package, sign everything and fill in all the data, and get started. We'll call you when we need you."

"Okay" Is all I say. What else is there, anyway? I look back at the package, then at Yelena. She's appearing to be engrossed in her article, but the way her eyes have been glancing towards me every couple minutes, I do believe there's something else on her mind.

It's also fairly obvious what it is, if I look at… well, nevermind. That's none of your business anyway.

I toss the package aside. I'll read it, of course, but later. Protip: If it's ever a choice between a beautiful woman and a stack of papers, pick the hot chick.

"So, any lingering compunctions about the FSB?"

She makes a face. "No one there even bothered to try and verify whether I was dead or compromised, no one tried to rescue me! They just didn't care! Screw them."

"That's the spirit. Any idea what Gibbons wants me to do?"

"None at all. I'm not cleared that high. I got told to give you your stuff, then report tomorrow morning to one of the local offices."

Huh. Need to know, then.

"Well, would you _like_ to know?"

She rises from her chair, walking over to the bed. "Would you even tell me?"

"I might, if you could… convince me to."

She _smirks._ "Well then, I think I'll _try."_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Wait, did I tell you she wasn't wearing a stitch this whole time? I think that's a silly thing to have missed. I just relax back into the desk as she _pounces_ on me, her tits pressing down into my chest as her lips cover my own. The dance of dominance in the kiss is an old one, but that doesn't make any of us more willing to lose.

I dance it with her well enough, enjoying the taste of her lips far too much. And then I move, flipping us over in an instant. Breaking the kiss I focus my attention on her tits, admiring the way they've grown since Prague.

"Oh, you dirty whore. You couldn't resist it after all, could you?" I ask, deliberately adopting a harsh tone. Judging by the massive blush that erupts on her face, she enjoys it just as much as she did back then. I found myself surprisingly skilled in chemical products that would have all kinds of sexual effects, earlier in this jump.

I wonder how she would reach to the knowledge that Silent Night had been a component of the cream I'd left behind with her assuring her it was 'interesting'. Probably not very well. In any case, I'd much rather play with her tits.

I move a bit to be horizontal with her, even as my lips never leave her nipple. One hand settes on her face, dipping a finger in her mouth that she can't wait to start sucking and biting at with abandon. The other hand travels between her legs, playing with her hot spots near her quim. I know every inch of her body like an instrument now, and playing it is a joy that never ceases.

Taking the continuous song of moans and squeals coming from Yelena as a metric, I get to work. A flick here and a pinch there, and it's all she can do to suppress her screams. Her hands dive into my hair and my face, a finger breaching past my lips which I kiss and suck, while my own finger continues to play alternatively with her mouth and neck.

"Clean shaven now, you bitch? I like girls who follow orders."

Another blush, another attempted moan starts, but I speak over it. "I bet you've been getting yourself fucked every day here in the states, isn't it? That's how you got this job so fast. You're already the NSA whore."

Ah, _that_ got her angry. I enjoy the way her fingers clench in my hair, trying to pull my head up so she can look me in the eye. Instead, I flick at her clit, hard and _painfully._ As her back arches and a scream starts to tear out of her, I clamp my hand on her face, redoubling my oral ministrations on her tits just as two fingers of my other hand enter her pussy.

Once again, I'm playing her body like a piano, pressing keys to extract a beautiful music. Rather unlike what I'd do with an actual piano, I soon move once more, adjusting us so instead of the horizontal setup I'm straddling her now, my crotch barely inches from hers. My hands move to both of her tits now, while I lean down to capture her in a kiss once more.

She bites my lips, hard, in a half-hearted attempt to extract revenge. All I do is slow down my ministrations at her tits for a second and she's all too glad to let it go, groaning like a child denied a treat.

But it isn't until she's primed and ready, continuously thrusting to at me, her back almost permanently arched, that I slow down once more, hands and lips just slackening.

The effect is instant. She groans and moans at he, trying several times before her voice comes out clearly "Nooo… don't stop…"

"You know the rules, Yelena. _Ask for it."_

"You- you bastaard… just do it!"

"Say the words, you whore. Beg for it." The words are probably lost on her anyway, as drowned by her lust as she is. But the near-complete stop of my fingers isn't. Her hands clamp onto mine, trying to get them back to work. I just remain at my sedate pace, poking and twisting and twitching at her.

I feel my own erection growing harder still, but I can wait. It's one of the benefits of Ninja Training they never tell you about. She, on the other hand…

"FINE! FUCK ME YOU BASTARD! FUCK ME!"

"Now that's more like it."

She's in the middle of making a face at me when I enter her, driving into her sopping wet cunt to the hilt in one motion. Her breath hitches, and she arches almost comically before letting out a loud _scream_ pf pure passion, as she covers the sheets below us in her orgasm.

Not that I acknowledge it. I drive into her again and again, pistoning in and out over and over. I lock my fingers on top of her head as it starts to slam into the headboard, and then go faster still, enjoying the way her hands probe my chest muscles in a weak mimicry of what I was doing to her a few minutes ago.

From there on the night is sounds of slapping flesh, as I fuck the former FSB, now NSA agent first into the bed, and then picking her up I take her right to the balcony, hoisting her onto the window while murmuring how the whole world will be seeing her. The only thing harder than her nipples at this is my cock, and I continue to just _move_ it within her, enjoying the terrific sensation of the vice grip her pussy maintains on me.

To her credit, she recovers several minutes in, dealing me back as good as I give her. I especially enjoy it when she pushes me to the floor and mounts me much like I was mounting her, _twisting_ this way and that to create wonderful sensations for my cock, all the while working her cunt muscles to maximize my pleasure even more.

It's one of her favorite tricks, and mine too, when she _turns_ a full 180 while still impaled on my cock, turning from a Reverse Cowgirl position to facing he and looking me in the eye. But she probably enjoys it less than me when I _move_ with her still fitted on me, pushing her to a wall and lifting her off my cock, before letting her descend again, only to find herself impaled through a _different_ hole.

Her mouth forms a perfect 'O' of shock, while her nails dig deep into my back at the pain. And then she _thrusts_ down, taking the full length of me into her ass in one titanic go. If her pussy was a vice her ass is a fucking _bear trap,_ in the way it wants to just never let go of my cock. I take her off the wall and on to my desk, flipping her over before starting to fucker her thoroughly and properly.

It's well over two hours in total, before we're done. I'm moving within her again, slowly now as I try and hold my own orgasm at bay. Yelena on the other hand is barely even conscious, having been through nearly a full dozen screaming, thrashing orgasms.

I continue to slow, moving firmly from the 'fucking' speed into 'lovemaking', pacing myself so she starts to focus on me once again, even contributing again with her own tricks. We make a game of it, me trying to coax one last orgasm out of her and she doing her best to _finally_ get me of.

Eventually she lifts herself off my cock altogether, pushing me to the side before standing up. She pulls me to the edge of the bed, making me sit as she descends to the floor, ready to take my cock between her lips.

And then the door to my suite opens.

In a different situation, one of us might even have been surprised. But considering that both of us are trained spies… I noticed her nearly half an hour ago. Her arousal really is too distinct. I don't know when she did, but Yelena's complete lack of surprise means she noticed the maid too.

"I… I'm sorry, I…"

"No, you're not. I say, standing up. Between my legs, Yelena is turned back towards the door, staring at the girl, Mira Dobrica if I remember right, as if she were some kind of a bug.

"I suppose you've been trying to get yourself off the whole day, without success?"

By the way her head jerks up, she has.

"Silly girl. My eye fell on you, Mira. Did you really think it was possible for you to achieve satisfaction through anything other than me, anymore?"

I must say, it's _fun_ to play the 'Cambrian character persona', as I call this. The twin of Mia Maestro flushes, looking almost for a moment like a cutesy little girl instead of the grown superhot woman here in need a dicking that she is.

"I… I just wanted to…"

I turn my face away from her, looking outside the window. It's a beautiful night sky outside, all glass and skyscrapers shining with inner lights. Not that I care. My attention is still on the Latino vision of perfection standing in the doorway. How does this woman not realize how beautiful she is?

My surprise grows, however, on hearing Yelena speak. "Silly little girl. Here for a cock you can't ever hope to handle. Go away, little girl!"

… Huh?

"Hey! I can handle all the cock you can, you little…" I don't need to turn my head to know that the woman is mortified right now. Yelena doesn't care, apparently.

"Hah. Here's a challenge for you. Go back to the elevator you came here with. Strip naked, and out all your clothes back in the elevator. Then walk here, slowly, and press the bells on every single door on the way here. Do that, and I'll believe you can handle this monster."

Bloody hell Yelena, I… I mean…

At least the maid turns away and runs. It's a waste of a beautiful scheme, but eh, there'll be other chances.

I'm about to say something about this to Yelena, before forgetting all about it as she takes my cock into her mouth. Good thing too, it was starting to wilt. All thoughts of the weirdness that just happened evaporate, in the face of the fantastic blowjob techniques of the Sparrow School. I grip the back of Yelena's head, leaning back with a sign as her tongue swirls and darts around my cock, working it's way around the head and down the shaft tiny, torturous bits at a time.

I close my eyes and lean back, letting go of her head and shutting away the whole world to enjoy the sheer _joy_ of the sensations she's working at my cock with every second. After several seconds of this, Yelena abruptly lets go of my cock, before descending back on it with a vengeance, taking it all the way down her throat in a single go.

I almost jump at that, especially once she starts swallowing at my cock with furious motions, all the while turning her head strategically. He hands are tight on my ass, holding her steady as she deepthroats me with an almost savage _need._ Then I feel her tongue lavishing attention on my balls, licking off the product of our hours of fucking.

I clamp by hand back at her head, taking a hold of her braid while managing her speed just a touch. She's more enthusiastic than ever, but seems to have traded her skill… hang on, what?

I open my eyes. Yelena is smirking at me like the cat that ate the canary, while her tongue works quickly and methodically at my balls. All the while my cock is buried in the gullet of… a Mira naked as the day she was born, tits glistening with sweat and face screwed up in concentration.

Despite all this, it's only when Yelena guides her off my cock and into a kiss around it that also serves as a double blowjob, that I finally find myself unable to resist anymore.

Mia… sorry, _Mira, Mira_ takes the first shot, drinking it deeply, while Yelena's own lips enclose me again in time for the second. They continue this several times, until I'm completely exhausted. Then they kiss the world's hottest kiss right in front of me, as they share my cum between their lips, before both swallowing as one.

So… as it turns out, I don't have any complaints about how this world works after all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Getting out of the bed without disturbing the girls on either side of me seems like a challenge, until I teleport and am standing across the room. I really should remember to use this more often.

The usual morning rituals take a pinch of time, and then I pick up my phone… only to toss it back as I recall something. It takes me a few minutes to locate the package that I tossed aside last night, from where it's lying beside the bed.

So, let's see. I've been appointed a full agent of the NSA, and Gibbons was even kind enough to arrange a full identity for me. Complete nine yards, everything backdated and sealed! I really wonder just what all he's expecting me to be able to do, that he's going this far. _I_ know what all I can do. He… I suppose he has an idea too.

Goodness, I really did use too much of my stuff in Prague, didn't I?

So, the standing orders are to immerse myself in this 'Joint Operations Task Force' thing, then use that to establish connections between the various agencies that comprise what I remember by grandfather once calling 'the largest, most expensive and least efficient security infrastructure ever designed'. That part is simple enough.

The second part is to then utilize these connection to keep a weather eye on the cases and investigations that proceed, and look for any… weird cases. Cases where criminals, or just people in general, one would suppose, show behavior that's counter-intuitive, or just plain _stupid_. When that kind of thing happens and somehow heads avoid being rolled… something deeper is going on.

Well, it's sensible enough, I suppose. Though how I'm supposed to get at the files of the individual agencies deep enough to see all that… oh, it's covered! They really are thorough at the NSA.

Hm, so… 'Consultant' programs? Apparently a few years ago a number of internal circulars were propagated that directed law enforcement agencies across the country to make use of 'unconventional expertise among willing members of the civilian population'.

Huh? That is, the cops in this country will do _what?_

I read on in growing disbelief, as reports of ongoing instances of the Consultant programs are lined one after the others. Psychics, Self-Admitted _Fake_ Psychics, Writers, Doctors… _Magicians?_ I… okay. This is nothing weirder than my grandfather being in wannabe-Illuminati.

Except… it _is._ Anyone who's met Wilfred Montague will tell you he looks _exactly_ like the guy who'd meet people in shady rooms to order wars started so he can sell more tanks. Even people who've just randomly seen his photo will say that. I tested once.

But fastidious, good policemen letting civvies play around with evidence? That sounds like… like…

I try to recall the word I'm looking for, racking my brains. It's not something I have to do often, considering my eidetic memory. Considering the need for it this time… I push a few more times, then stop.

So, I've actually run into my self-imposed Amnesia. That's a first. But it confirms my doubts. All this _can't_ be an ordinary world thing. So it has to be the franchises this world is a mishmash of that's doing this. Well, that's good. I can work with that.

I go back to the dossier. But there isn't much more in it. There's a few locations of safe houses and access details for some bank accounts, and details and proofs for couple of 'auxiliary' identities.

I suppose that in the face of all this flagrant violations of sensible procedures already happening it would be simple enough to insert myself and get to work. But getting on that can wait a bit, once I get all my other business in order. It's not as if any of these conspiracy types ever do anything _quickly._ In all likelihood, there's going to be _months_ before anything noticeable occurs.

Putting the dossier aside, I pick up my phone again. Time to check the news. Flashing the screen on, I swipe to get the heading. Ten seconds later I'm rushing into my clothes, and then running to wake Yelena. The whole time, I curse Murphy to every hell imaginable.

"What happened?" The Russian-turned-American spy asks me upon waking up. She can probably sense my urgency from the way I'm, y'know, running across the room. I just toss my phone at her. A few seconds later she's up, all hints of sleep gone, already hunting for her own clothes.

I can sense the questions before they come. Good thing too, because she can read my answers on my face. We both hurry, getting ready to report to an office we know is going to be in the uproar to end all uproars.

You see, about twenty minutes ago, someone bombed the Grand Central Station into rubble.


	14. Chapter 14

It was a coronation, for all intents and purposes. Oh, the visible bits were different. Where there might have once been gold and silk and steel, there were only elegantly tailored suits costing enough to cover their wearers in all three. Instead of an old priest there was an old lawyer, and oaths to rule well were replaced with careful initials and signatures on legal forms.

But in spite of all that, a coronation it remained. The shuffling of paper and imperceptible taps on a touch-screen replaced loud cheers and oaths, and yet the core of the process, the anointing of a rightful heir to their proper place, remained unchanged. The old lawyer, a preeminent titan in the boardrooms of the United States for many decades now, watched in silence as his charge went through the process, seated next to him, reading through each page in seconds before scrawling his signature on the indicated spots.

He finished with a flourish, before pushing away the file towards the lawyer, and leaning back in his chair. The lawyer went through the document in detail, looking carefully to ensure all was in order. He passed it on, moments later, to the other lawyer, who repeated the ritual before confirming that all was in order with a nod and a smile.

"Congratulations, Mr Montague. You're the new owner of the Kane Corporation." He said to the young man, rising and offering a hand. As his charge took it, Sebastian Winthrope let his mind, which even he deemed far too poetic at times, finally settle. It had not been entirely challenge-less to keep the lad's inheritance safe against the challenges that had come against it. While the relevant Wills were all unequivocal, one never knew for _sure,_ not when money like this was involved.

But now the Trust was dissolved and its responsibilities inherited successfully, and the majority shareholding of a corporation richer than some nations had passed to a real _owner,_ instead of a board of people who had both far too much freedom with it and far too many restraints. It was funny how that was so possible, and indeed, common in such things.

And now it was done. Unspeakable Wealth, broad command over the lives of thousands and indirect influence over those of millions, all had changed hands in this hall today, like they did so often. All thanks to the wonders of inheritance. The young man had inherited the company from his father, who'd inherited it from his own mother, who in turn got it from _her_ father… It had been a coronation, in fact if not in appearance.

After a few more congratulations and perfunctory wishes, Edward Montague stood from his seat in a motion not entirely unlike a jungle predator rising from it's crouch. He was… strange to look at, in a way that couldn't really be pinpointed. Good-looking, certainly. Sebastian was far too old for these things even had he not been straighter than several rulers, but he could appreciate good looks on someone with the best of them.

Between the unusually bright grey eyes, the hair and the cheekbones, Edward Montague could give many professional models a run for their money, and that was without any of the typical makeup and airbrushing all that stuff tended to entail. That said, he was _too_ good-looking. Too perfect, almost as if… but that would make no sense.

No, he was wasting time with this. As the young man strode out of the room with a panther's grace in his movements, Sebastian pulled out his phone. The call connected momentarily, the man on the other end answering seconds later.

"Well?" Wilfred Montague asked.

"It's done. No complications."

"Ah. Glad to hear it. Take care, Seb. You're coming next week, right?"

"Oh, yeah. It's been a long time."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She was dripping wet, a result of having to swim across a river not twenty minutes ago. She also probably smelled to high heaven, as a result of having swum through a _New York_ river. She was tired, hungry and confused… but most of all she was _angry._ What had happened? Who had framed her for this… this abomination?

She needed answers, and badly. Having been deemed Person of Interest #1, she couldn't really hope to get it from the FBI… which left this. Simon Asher had been a good friend at the academy. Tech-savvy, nice, helpful, if a bit… awkward. But still, a friend and a good one. She could only hope she could trust him now. Reaching the door, Alex checked the address on her palm again just to be sure, before raising her hand to press the bell.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you." A voice spoke from the street.

She turned around, gun already ready and pointing at the man who'd spoken. Leaning across a fancy black car that she couldn't recall the name of was a man about her age. She paused for a fraction of a second to take him in. Relaxed body language, fancy clothes indicating wealth, hints of training from the way his eyes kept darting across her, mapping her out much as she was doing him.

"Who are you?" She asked, trying to keep the strain out of her tone. She really wasn't in the mood for being fucked around with, not here and not now when someone was trying to frame her as the worst terrorist in the world after UBL.

"Someone who knows more about Simon Asher than you, anyhow. Did you even realize that he's actually an undercover Agent?"

 _What?_ Simon had been kicked out of the academy in the middle of the course! Alex had seen that happen with her own eyes! No, this had to be a lie. This man, was he working with the terrorists? Was he involved in framing her, and now trying to get her to turn on her friends for some other purpose?

But there was something in his voice, something she couldn't _quite_ pin down, that told her that he wasn't. Somehow her gut was convinced he was telling the truth.

"Prove it." She asked, tentatively deciding to hear him out. As a response he reached into his pocket, making her get read with her finger on the trigger, before he pulled it out to show her a badge and an ID.

An ID for a Simon Asher, denoting him as a Special Agent for the FBI.

Still, by itself that didn't mean much.

"That could be fake." There was no telling, after all. The _Grand Central Station_ had just been bombed into rubble. Anything was possible now.

The ma just looked at her in a way that finally taught her the meaning of the word 'chagrined'. Then he made an annoyed sound, before looking her straight in the eye. "We don't have time for this, princess. The guy inside called his boss the moment your boyfriend called him and told him to help you. _Come with me if you want to live."_

And that was enough. She _knew_ , knew then that she would be safe if she went with him. Watching silently as he got into the car, she stepped in through the other side.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

So there _is_ a difference between how you look when you're a professional actress vs when you're a hunted fugitive after having been a law enforcement cadet. I have to say, I _like_ the changes I'm seeing. Musculature differences, a couple faded marks on an otherwise flawless skin… this woman was one of the best stars I knew of back home, but now… I could buy her being FBI. Not entirely expected, that, let me tell you.

Driving home is a unique experience, considering how I can all but _feel_ the tension radiating off her in waves. And it should be.

When I found out that the second 9/11 had happened in this world yesterday, I'll admit, it sent my thoughts into something of a tailspin. But after a day looking up every lead and connection the NSA's systems could provide me and crunching all the numbers while looking for the patterns that should be there…

Well, I couldn't _quite_ conclude that it wasn't associated with any of my suspects with just that much. To do that took a call across the Atlantic, and then another to Devereaux, the old CIA guy Wilfred introduced me to, but that cleared those guys, at least inasmuch I can trust them. Which is not the whole way, but pretty far, since I'm about the one guy in the world Wilfred is most likely to be honest towards.

I couldn't ask them about Cobra, of course, but then I can't ask _anyone_ about Cobra. I can't, in fact, check anything about Cobra at all right now. I've got subroutines running to dig up any references to the sign of Cobra and for any pf the keywords the computer in the Alps gave me, and until I have some results there's just no _point_ in wondering whether Cobra did something or not.

But getting into the FBI's systems was good practice, and finding out that they already had top suspect? That pricks my suspicion. While the locals may be too caught up in the way this all works, I have something of an advantage in that I can almost _feel_ the skeins of the narrative around me.

It's not a 100% reliable thing, subversion of the expected plotline was getting real popular before I left, but still, it's pretty good as far as guidelines go. And those guidelines say that a young, beautiful woman, the hero so far but now set alone against the world having been accused of a horrific crime… is not going to be the one who committed it.

Again, she _could_ be, I've seen _Salt,_ but the balance of probability doesn't support it.

Which brings us here, specifically to be driving her to my new home so we can look into sorting out this… _mess_. It's not one of the Montague homes, those are still being refurbished. No, I inherited this one today. I was a bit surprised they still went on with it considering the state of the city right now, but apparently it's supposed to 'show strength' or something? I'm just glad it got done.

She doesn't speak much over the course of the trip, other than a few questions that I manage to deflect easily enough. Y'know, the usual 'who're you, why are you helping me' and all that. My non-answers seem to annoy her, but she accepts them, so that's that. I can almost see what's going on in her head, it's much the same as what I'm thinking. Best keep the QA for when we have some solid brickwork between us and the world.

Which is… pretty soon. The property I'm driving to is a penthouse pretty close to where I picked her up… but then I found her last evening. Having heard her call, I waited until she was in the area for the specific reason that we could get indoors pretty quickly.

Soon enough, we're here, and I let her in before stepping into one of the inner rooms and getting a couple things.

She's pointing her gun at me when I step out. Because of course she is. This _fucking_ world…

I _step_ towards her, half jumping-half teleporting till I'm standing right next to her, just out of the line of fire. Before she can react, I have a grip on the gun. A twist and a jerk… and then I toss it in the trash bin on the other side of the room.

Then I let her go.

"What was that supposed to achieve, anyway?"

She doesn't answer, still looking back and forth from her hands, me and the trash. To her credit, she regains her composure pretty quickly.

"It was supposed to get some answers out of you, you arrogant asshole! You drag me off from my friend's house, who I know and trust, and you bring me to this… place. What's this supposed to be anyway, you're flaunting your money at me? Don't you realize I don't have the time for this?"

The _fuck_ is she talking about? I… ah. It's 'panic yelling'. Sometimes when you suddenly feel your nerves uncoiling after a long, terrifying experience, all the emotions you shunted aside can hit you in weird ways. That for her it takes the shape of blind anger… is perhaps not _that_ surprising, in the end.

I _am_ surprised that this place apparently counts as enough of a sanctuary for her all of a sudden, but then again, considering her situation I get the idea _any_ indoors location where she doesn't feel that the door is going to be burst down in a second would count.

In any case, I tune her out while she rants and raves for a good minute or so, getting started, well, _restarted,_ on my investigations instead. In this scenario there's no telling who did it, but an excellent place to begin is the official people investigating it. Those types always end up involved, one way or the other.

"If you're quite done…" I speak up when it seems to me she's quite done "I'm Lance Kruger, NSA. I picked up your case due to… well hello, dear. Someone just one-upped 9/11. _Of course_ I picked it up. My initial investigation has been enough to establish that you didn't do it, and I think we can get a fair bit more done once we pool our resources."

I can _see_ her restraining her desire to speak up at this. She struggles for a few seconds and I stop talking just to make it a bit harder for her. I'm kind of an asshole. Eventually, she just shrugs and makes one of those universal 'get on with it' gestures.

"Considering the lengths people went to in order to frame you, I don't expect you to last a day in custody of any kind. Hence the whole 'rescue' scenario we have going here. This is a safe house, you can stay here as long as it takes us to get this thing done."

Now she _does_ speak up. "Getting a bit ahead of ourselves, aren't we? What makes you think I even want your help? Why would I want to work for the NSA?"

" _With_ , Ms Parrish. You'd be working _with_ me. And sure, I suppose you could go with one of the many, many other options you have…" that's twice I've made her feel like an idiot. She can't be liking it, but she should stop _acting_ like one!

I wait for a response, but she just makes a face. "You might be interested in getting a meal from the fridge and making use of the facilities to get yourself cleaned up. I'll get us started on looking into the people in charge over at the FBI."

"What, Liam? No, he can't be involved in this!"

"Well, I wouldn't know. All the same, it's usually a good idea to check out the people involved in investigating these things. You'd be surprised how often it turns out they know more than they're telling" What I don't tell her that is most often they turn out to be the perpetrators.

It's weird. The locals of this world don't seem to notice the… wacky way things work around here, almost as if everything was an action movie or a police procedural. I suppose that's a part of the pattern too.

"Anyway, we can talk about all that once you get fresh, okay?"

"No. We should talk about it now! What's this about looking into the FBI? Is the NSA doing that now?" It's _weird_ when this world abruptly stops working along it's tropes and starts to look into real issues. She was supposed to just accept that the all-knowing NSA is looking into the FBI. Why would she question it?

"Ms Parrish…" I take care to affect a drawl, the time-honored way to set up witty or pseudo-witty quips. Or just making plain insults sound like quips. If I do this next bit right, it should cut off all the 'NSA overreach' thoughts in her head right away. May piss her off at me a bit, but that's a concern for later.

"What?"

"Go take a bath, dear. I understand you swam through a river, but you're kind of beginning to smell."

She's adorable when she's embarrassed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Which brought you to find me there, at Simon's?"

"Yes! Bloody hell, why do you have to keep repeating this?" I'll admit, I'm annoyed now. It's been hours and we're discussing the same motherfucking things!

"Yes, yes I do. _You're illegally monitoring the FBI!"_ She yells as if it makes a difference.

"Only illegal if I get caught. And y'know, considering that it's this illegal monitoring that's saving your skin right now, you could be a little more grateful about it!"

At least she has the grace to look embarrassed at this. She opens her mouth again, but I place a finger to her lips, shutting her down.

"No more repetitions. This wire you found came from McGregor Wyatt. I understand you've got a friend there?"

She looks incensed "And _I've_ told you, Shelby is not a friend. Not anymore."

"Well, whatever she is, we need her to talk. Her systems are encrypted enough that it'll take a while to get through. If we have a faster way, we need to take it."

She has the gall to look smug at this. "Oh, I thought the NSA had all the toys! And what was it you said 'Mine are better even among the NSA!'"

I suppress a snarl, rising from my place to point at the computer. "My programs _are_ better, but having to use commercial hardware makes the process slow as fuck! And you know what? I'd have fixed it by now! I literally have everything I need in the other room . It would already have been done, but _someone_ kept talking about the same moronic bloody point, over and over and _over_ again!"

I turn around to look at her, to see if she… where is she?

I turn around, wondering whether I could get away with killing her. It'd be in bad taste, and she's _Priyanka Chopra_ , but… ah. There she is! Is she… yes. She's trying to blink off sleep.

… I suppose it _has_ been a tremendously long couple of days for her. Still, I should at least- I hear a sound. It's utterly _tiny_ , barely even detectable. But I heard it.

"Y'know what, Ms Parrish? I'll get this done. Guest bedroom is on the right, go get some sleep.

She doesn't resist.

It's only once the door to the room she picked it closed that I walk over the wall and tap a few keys on the window. A tiny trickle of a gas, a sleeping aid, will fill her room soon. Nothing to affect her mind unduly, but it should ensure dreamless sleep.

As I do, I hear another sound, followed by more moments later. Out of the corner of my eye, a shadow seems to flicker a fraction of a millimeter. Bloody hell, it's them. I ready myself. A single twitch of my wrist will have a knife ready in my hand. Let's get this done today… wait. The shadow flickers again, three times in three locations.

That's not the preparation for an attack. Well, it is, but it's also a signal. One two boys sat down and agreed upon ages ago. But that… it's not _impossible,_ but… "The Wind stands fair today." A voice speaks out of nowhere in particular. Scattered ventriloquism. It's an Ozunu specialty taught to the best students of the clan.

"And yet it may still Rain." I answer the challenge. Then I relax. It's still possible for it to be a hostile, but if _that_ has happened then I have bigger problems.

But soon enough a shadow detaches itself from the wall, stepping into the light.

"It has been far too long, brother." Raizo speaks.

"I agree, brother." Kaze answers. The Wind and the Rain were Ozunu's own personal joke, a play on an old chinese saying. We were his pride, the two greatest Black Sand students of this generation. Too bad both of us rebelled. Bad for him, of course. It was _awesome_ for us.

There's remarkably little sentimental display between us, but then neither of us is exactly the type. "What brings you here today, Raizo?"

"Opportunity, Edward my friend. An opportunity to do what we dreamed of."

"Really? Kill Ozunu? Tell me more." There's no question of asking if he's sure, or some other bullshit like that. It's Raizo.

"Yes, brother. This… thing that happened yesterday, when your Railway station got blown up. It has given us our chance."

Huh? How would the Grand Central going the way of the towers create an opportunity to take out Ozunu? Unless…. Yeah, I think I begin to understand.

"It was a lot more than a railway station, Raizo. But please, explain."

He's bemused "Explain? You wouldn't have needed one, last I knew you."

I don't. But the woman listening intently at her door down the corridor does. I'll need to up the dosage on the sleeping gas, she apparently has some enhancements of her own. It should take her soon enough anyway, I don't use the kind of chemicals that can be stopped by anything an FBI rookie can get her hands on. _Slowed_ is another ball game, though. I might as well send her to sleep suspicious and then let her wonder in the morning if it was all a dream.

I might have mentioned before, but I'm an asshole.

"Indulge me."

"This thing is a kick in the teeth for America. The last time the sleeping giant woke, it's actions ripped apart the monarchies of the Middle East. Many powerful people around the world spent mountains of time and treasure lulling it back to sleep. Now that it's awake again, they all want their closets dusted for skeletons."

"And no one does spring cleaning quite like the Ozunu." I finished for him.

"Last I heard, the prices he was getting offered had already outmatched anything the clan got paid in the last five years. You know him, he'll strip the compound bare to rake in the money."

"And he can't go out himself, courtesy of us." Oh yeah. I remember the day, too. Raizo got his eye and I got a leg. The clan's healing techniques are good, but they're not _that_ good. And there's not much use for a lame ninja without depth perception on active missions.

I don't expect it to make _fighting_ him much easier, considering this plan pits us against him in the Main Compound, where he's intimately familiar with every stone and every flicker of air, but still, knowing that he's going to _have_ to be there, without any of the dozens upon dozens of Elders that protect him… yeah. This opportunity is too good to ignore.

We could cut off the head of the serpent in one move. Get it done, move past that chapter of my life… avenge my mother.

Of course, that leaves the question of Special Agent Parrish. I need to help her, and I need to keep her off the streets if she's to live. Considering the lengths to which the terrorist went to frame her, it has to indicate some kind of entanglement that can be exploited. And yet, I can't do that from Japan. It'll take us at least a few days to get there and back, and this is the most crucial time of the investigation, too.

Man, I'd _really_ hoped I'd be able to avoid making this call so early.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Explain it to me again."

I suppress a groan. Who the fuck put this moron in charge here? I mean, it's comforting in a way that dimensional analogues remain consistent. Oberyn Martell and Javier Pena were both stupid assholes too. But _this fucking guy_ , Agent Whisky of the Kingsman…

I'm saved from throwing him out of the window of his own office by the voice that booms from behind me.

"Actually, wait for a couple seconds! I wanna hear this too!"

Turning around, I see Jeff Bridges strolling into the room, dressed in a sharp suit, Stetson jammed on his head. That'll be Champagne, then.

"You're the guy Devereaux was talkin' 'bout?"

"Yes, sir. Lamorak, at your service."

"Glad to meet you. Code's Champagne, but anyone with sense calls me Champ."

I smile, because I'm expected to. What, is this supposed to be funny?

With someone actually willing and able to act around, I don't fund it a burden to explain the situation for the third time. I can't explain the Ozunu thing, of course, but I can mention 'unavoidable situation' and have them understand.

Whiskey looks bothered again when I go over the evidence as to why Parrish is innocent. I'm honestly starting to get bothered by the man. What the fuck is wrong with him anyway? But I don't really care about him anymore. Champagne asks for all my evidence and hands it to… Halle Berry is a _tech_ in this world, can you even imagine?

 _Halle Berry._ The American Merlin is _Jynx_. I mean… sure, I guess.

But the does the verifying, and it's only a few hours since he walked into the room that we're sitting in a different one, finalizing the details.

"And you're sure about these people."

"Yes, Agent, I am. In fact, I think it'll be a good thing for you to interact with them for a while. Could open up your options for the aftermath of this mess."

"We'll see." Is all she says, before I hand the laptop to Jynx… sorry, Ginger Ale. Alex wasn't the happiest of people when I explained the situation to her this morning, but c'mon. I'm me. I once teleported Everest to the Moon as a magic trick on Live TV. While playing _Exalted_. I can convince a single woman of something that's so blindingly in her best interest.

No, the challenge came from something else entirely.

"All done?" Champagne asks me, voice light as anything. Well, as light as it can be under that Texan accent he's affecting. Look, spies are clever and know a lot of stuff, but there's things we can miss. _I_ , though, was in the showbiz. I can tell when someone is playing a part and having the time of their lives doing it. I don't say anything, though. It's not my business.

It's totally not due to the seething undercurrent of anger, of course. That's been so common lately I've started to tune it out. Raizo wasn't kidding. America as a nation is _raging_ right now, and it's already causing messes. Messes that the Ozunu are going to run ragged cleaning up and raking in the money for.

But that's all in the future. Right now…

"Step this way, kid. Let's talk about the other thing."

I go with him.

"I have to ask. Is this really necessary?"

"Afraid it is. Codes are fine an' all, but in our business, Names have Power. And don' go tellin' me that Lance Kruger shit. Deveraux ain't gonna call me o'er some damfool Lance Kruger!"

No, I suppose he isn't. "Eddie Montague, sir. From England." That was the condition he set for trusting me. That if I was going to use Statesman resources, the least I could do was show the same level of commitment as I showed to Kingsman.

I look in his eyes for a reaction, and sure enough, he pauses for a fraction of a second. Then he's all smiling and laughing "Shit? Nigel Montague's kid? Your daddy was a big guy around here once, y'know."

"Was he now?"

"Sure was, when he inherited all those Kent Companies. Made a big name as an investor and a scientist, he did! Though what kind of man settles in a city named after a damned pest makes me wonder."

… huh? I'll have to get back to this later. City named after a pest would be… oh. Oh my. But that does make sense. A _lot_ of Kent Corp's assets are in the Pharma business. For him to be interested in _that_ particular Company Town to end all company towns… I snap my attention away from this line of thought. _Later._

I'm just about to turn around when Champagne speaks up again. "Well kid, since you were so nice and all, y'know what? Imma give you the same courtesy."

I hesitate. The real name of Statesman's boss? That's probably not…

"Name's Sterling Archer, kid. Don't wear it out."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	15. Chapter 15

I turn to look at the blinking metal detector.

Then back to the innocent-looking ninja next to it.

"Seriously, Raizo? I _told_ you. I can have any weapon you need available in Tokyo. _Anything._ "

"I like this one." He says, all but pouting.

I just roll my eyes and gesture at the guard to let it go. One of the benefits of flying on a private jet on a private airstrip is that I can do that. Anyway, I never _really_ expected him to let that weapon go.

Even back at the compound, we all had our little rebellions long before we broke out the big one. The day after Old Man Ozunu told us never to get attached to any weapon too much, Raizo started carrying his KS around everywhere he went. No one ever found out, of course, he's _Raizo_ , but it was a thing.

Me? They had a lot of pretty girls on the compound who we were supposed to stay far away from at all times. Something about attachments. Why don't you take a fucking guess what I used to do?

It helps to ruminate about these small rebellions we used to partake in, now that we're headed for the big one. I still can't completely believe it, if I'm to be honest. Lord Ozunu is one of the most dangerous people alive currently. Entirely possibly, he's _the_ most powerful person alive, at least when it comes to direct combat. That's the guy we've decided to take on and murder.

Oh, there's no question of there being second thoughts or anything. That Ozunu needs to die is a fact that has been etched into our bones ever since we escaped the compound all those years ago. I, well the 'me' before my Jump started, knew that all along. Losing my memory fucked that up, but now that it's back on track, it's hardly the time to start pussyfooting around.

No, he's going down, that much is certain. It's just… _Ozunu._ The great Lord Ozunu, ruler of every aspect of our lives at a time. _Father_ ¸ as he'd like us to call him. It's _that_ guy who we're going to decapitate and take turns tossing limbs down the mountain of. It's kind of humbling, considering the role he played in our lives and how complete his whole 'I am Invincible' shtick was.

I look at Raizo, where he's already busy meditating. Rising to my feet, I give him a good kick in the back. Which he dodges, of course, moving back in a smooth step.

"What?" the tone is flat. Not annoyed, but not exactly happy either.

"It's one thing to decide to do this. You make any progress with the speed thing?"

He makes a face, which tells me all I need to know. Still, I listen to what he's saying. "No… I'm close. I so close I can taste it, but it's just not working out."

I suppress my reaction. It's not too surprising, given as I myself have yet to get a solid grasp over it. Basically, the Ozunu clan has a superpower, gained through certain herbs that grow close to the compound, and ancient techniques that have been passed down for ages, all the way back to the first Lord of the Black Sands.

What we can do, is to control ourselves. As in, our bodily functions, each and every one of them. We can in general think faster, heal ourselves quicker, detoxify poisons and alcohol, and basically anything else you'd imagine. Now it's not exactly something like Metamorphism from Harry Potter. Or bodies aren't clay to our wills.

Rather, we can do things like develop our muscles more, in specific ways. We can modify our skins to be smoother, more aerodynamic… and other things like that. The most common use is the faster healing and detox, of course, but a combat strategy is to speed ourselves up. A lot.

It was developed by some Ozunu several centuries back, and played a major part in catapulting the clan to a senior position among the Nine instead of the bottom tiers we'd been at before, but it's not exactly _easy,_ by anyone's measuring.

And so we're faced with an opponent who can move faster than we can see. Not always, and not continuously, as that would burn him alive from the inside out while starving him at the same time, but for flashes that let him be the proverbial Striking Shadow while we're sitting ducks in comparison.

Now I _can_ do it. Not as well as Ozunu, but enough to get by. The rest I can fake with my teleportation, which is the only reason why we're even going. Well, the only reason why _I'm_ going. I get the feeling Raizo has the bit between his teeth again. But I don't think I can reveal the teleport to Raizo… and I can't let him die to Ozunu if he can't accomplish it. It's not _certain_ that would happen, but come on.

Yeah… it's going to be tricky keeping him away from Ozunu long enough to get the deed done. Would be better if I could _tell_ him, but he'd probably flip out at me 'not believing in him' or something.

And that just leaves doing it subtly. He's likely to figure it out eventually and be _even_ angrier, of course… But that's just a risk that has to be taken, if I want him alive and well at the end of this.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"And what about the targets in Mosul?"

"We are done with three of the five, father. If you wish we can send the teams back for compound duty."

"No. There is another contract that came up in Spain. Proceed there immediately. You know where to get the details."

I look at Raizo in silence from my position. About a dozen yards away, he smiles just a bit. Good old Ozunu, too greedy for his own good. I try to identify who the voice on the other end of the call had been, but in the end it's entirely pointless. What do I care, really?

Still, we wait for him to finish things up. We're on a thin, almost paper-like extension off a sheer cliff face, the outer wall of the Ozunu compound with an overhanging extension of the room. The material is the fake paper that goes into the 'traditional Japanese house' look. Thin like it, looks like it, but stronger than sheets of steel.

Good thing it carries sounds like anyone's business.

It's eventually almost a full hour before he's done, having been apparently only in the beginning of today's reports. That was a surprise, we'd targeted our timing so he'd be just near the end. But that's the thing about old schedules. They change. And tapping Raizo's source for something like this might have been just a _bit_ too much.

Once he's done, he rises from the sitting position in front of his laptop and walks over to a side alcove where he would pour himself a tiny thimble of Sake. I might have considered that as an avenue to attack, but poisoning an Ozunu is one of the least useful things one could do. Unless one knows _exactly_ what they're doing, but that's a _whole_ other kettle of fish.

And right now, irrelevant.

I look at Raizo, noticing him looking right at me. It's time.

The next several actions we take are in perfect synchronization. They have to be, to get done without getting detected prematurely. We move across the roof in a quick second, taking position over the guards standing on either side of Ozunu's door. Another look between us to time things perfectly, and then they're both down, knocked out with simple nerve pinches.

We pick them up and move back, positioning them on the outer slope of the roof so they're impossible to notice from the inside of the compound, and pinning them there with a few stars. Then we're back up ahead, standing in their place a moment later.

Total time anyone had to notice a lack of guards: 1.5 seconds. Even Ninjas aren't _that_ alert, especially without any reason to be. This whole thing would have taken anyone else closer to 5, after all.

Another shared glance, and we move again, sliding the door open to move in.

Ozunu is sitting with his back to us, staring at the wall in the lotus position.

"Yes? What is it?" he calls out, hearing the door open and close.

We don't answer. Faking voices is a thing, but not against _this_ guy.

Instead, we draw our weapons. The motion is utterly silent, without so much as a hint of a noise. In case this didn't come across earlier… that doesn't mean much to the guy.

"Ah. I was wondering how long it would be before another of you came. Who is it, then? Storm Shadow? Ra's al ghul?"

He's trying to trap us in a conversation, while he can get into a better position. I notice his sword is almost two feet away from him right now. Instead of answering, we move. Raizo strikes first, closing in and sending his knife out with a small twirl to strike straight at our old mentor's throat.

He moves in a fluid motion, grabbing his sword and bowing just a bit to let the blade go flying over him. I strike then, my own _Tanto_ drawn and aimed at his torso. Out of the corner of my eye I see Raizo launch into another move, drawing several throwing stars.

Ozunu moves _between_ our moves, catching hold of my short sword and using it to _jerk_ me, hard. I find myself facing Raizo's stars, while Ozunu jumps high and throws several knives at Raizo. It makes the guy back off, allowing the old man to land close to the back of the room where all his stuff is.

Hands digging into a rack behind him, Ozunu lets out a grotesque smile. "Ah. My sons, you have come back to me! I command the Wind and Rain once more!"

I bite down a response about how he never commanded us. Instead, I employ the first use of my heightened speed. All processes in my body speed up, muscles burning energy rapidly to unlock incredible strength. I _move_ , almost fast enough to classify as a comic book speedster.

This is the culmination of everything the Ozunu clan's abilities let us do, the ability to 'overcharge' our own bodies' functions to such degrees. My sword moves, with less skill than I'd like. All the same, it connects this time, leaving a shallow furrow of blood across Ozunu's arm. I'd aimed for his throat, but he moved a step while raising an arm to protect it.

To his credit, he doesn't let an expression show on his face. I allow myself to glance for a moment on his left leg, distinctly different from the rest of his body. It's a prosthetic, a true masterpiece. But nothing can compare to the real deal, and him needing it is a point of pride for me.

Being able to heal ourselves of so many things without so much as a mark left, lasting injuries are a terrible insult for an Ozunu. Having brought him so low as to have to use a _prosthetic…_ oh yeah, that's something alright.

I'm pulled out of my brief distraction when Ozunu speeds himself up, getting both my short swords up and in a defensive circle. It'll be me he comes for, I can tell. I was the one who got first blood, and for all his crowing that it's only the last blood that matters… he's prideful as fuck. Sure enough, I feekl the telltale hiss through the wind as a sword strikes at my neck.

I move ahead, turning already to throw a brace of knives and stars at where it's coming from. And then I grimace as I feel his sword digging into my back anyway, him having anticipated my move. But the thing about having a partner in a fight is…

I hear his hiss of pain as Raizo's thrown knives catch him in the side. The distraction slows his movement away from me, letting me get in a strike of my own. It hits him in the shoulder, the tanto digging in deep… and then _his_ sword slides across my _front_ , carving in another gash.

Almost before he's done I'm striking again, sword swinging for his chest, before he speeds away from it. He materializes near Raizo. My brother's chain weapon strikes instantly, but it's entangled in the pole Ozunu throws for it, letting the old man nail him with several _shuriken_ in the chest. It leaves him exposed to me, though, letting me get close and connect with a full-strength strike.

It doesn't connect _fully_ , as instead of his head going flying all I get is a few drops of blood as a small nick opens up on the side of his throat. But as he turns his attention back to me I speed away from him again, appearing at the opposite side of the room and letting loose with a full volley of throwing knifes at every avenue of approach…

Before grimacing as I just _move_ , not even speeding. All too close, I feel a blade stab into my hip from _below_. The strike would have impaled me if I was a second slower, and damn if I have any idea about how he got there. This fight has already lasted for nearly nine seconds, and I can positively _hear_ the guards rushing towards the cottage.

We need to finish this _fast._

Alas, thinking it doesn't make it happen. Between me and Raizo we _do_ have what it takes to bring down the old man, but it goes slower. Raizo and I both collect a steadily growing selection of cuts, lacerations and stabs as we mount our own at him.

I have to give up on shielding Raizo fourteen seconds into the fight, as my injuries are starting to become a bother. Instead, I take a step back. So far I've done this the proper way, like an Ozunu trained ninja, because jumper or not, that's kinda the thing you're _supposed_ to do. Call it moronic adherence or remaining Ozunu brainwashing, but it is what it is.

But now… I think for a moment, and a particular perk flicks to life for an instant. Quite possibly one of the most broken perks out there, and one I keep switched off most of the time. **Human Pincushion** comes to life with a thought, and I suddenly feel all the damage from my injuries, all my pain and lightheadedness and the rest just… disappear.

That's step one. Step two is to jump into the air, and just… stay there. It's not _quite_ flight, but rather levitation the way a Magician would do it. _Exactly_ the way a magician would do it, to be honest. And then I draw my sword. Or rather, I pretend to. My swords are somewhere under Ozunu's bed, I lost them when he cut my hands while I was punching him into it.

But with my perks, I don't actually _need_ a sword. And now, I'm ready. I look at Ozunu and Raizo's fight, just to get ready. Ozunu is advancing at Raizo, who's lying half dead on the floor. He's got his sword drawn… and Raizo speeds. He disappears into the shadow, ready to strike at Ozunu.

He steps out of the burning smoke to Ozunu's left, striking hard, his blade cutting into the old man, only for the one-eyed bastard's sword to come descending on his neck. Ah. Here's when I intervene, I think. With a thought, I replace Raizo with myself, blocking Ozunu's sword with my own.

And as old and experienced as Ozunu is, seeing a guy who you recently turned into a mesh floating in the air where another guy was on the ground a moment ago, and having him block your sword with nothing but thin air will throw _anyone_ off. Not for long, but long _enough._ I 'draw' my second sword, locking Ozunu's in place, and _swing._

"Did you _have_ to hit me with his head" Raizo whines from the other side of the room.

No, but it was an additional bonus.

We stand side by side again, looking at the old man's headless body. I have my 'swords' back, fakes transmuted out of small pieces of Ozunu's robes. It wouldn't do for Raizo to get too many strange questions in his head now.

"Raizo?"

"Yes, Kaze?"

"Why are we standing around?"

"What? Come on, appreciate the moment. We're _free!_ "

"Are we, Raizo?"

He looks at me in utter terror for an instant.

"Aren't we? There's no tradition for vengeance."

I look at him again. Can he _really_ have forgotten it?

"Raizo. We killed Ozunu. _We_ killed Ozunu. Did you really forget what comes next?"

He honestly fucking wonders for a moment. _Dammit Raizo you musclebound fight-freak!_

"Just… run. Run!"

But of course, it's too late. We reach the door, rushing to the roof in an instant, only to find it covered from edge to edge in black robed Shinobi.

Turning around, I see the _whole compound_ is filled. How are there so many? Even if the vast, _vast_ majority are students, there are half a dozen _elders_ standing in the courtyard!

Wait. Half a dozen elders. Six. That's… that's a Quorum.

"Raizo…"

He looks at me with… is that _smugness?_

"Not it!"

"What."

"I remembered, Edward. And I'm saying right now. NOT IT!" he yells for the whole compound to hear.

Oh fucking goddamit.

Okay, I should probably explain this before you lose your heads. We just killed Ozunu. The whole thing, from start to finish, took about twenty seconds, give or take, between us knocking out the guards on his door and cutting his head off. If any of these guys had made it into the fight in that time, they'd have had a sacred duty to, y'know, try their best to kill the fuck out of us.

 _Now_ , though… now it gets thorny. Because he's dead, and so the decision about what to do with us rests with the _next_ Lord Ozunu. Which… is where it gets thornier. Technically the Elders can elect a Head from among themselves with the consent of the rest of the clan. In practice, trying that is to invite open civil war as everyone votes for themselves.

Yeah, murderers for hire don't do well with cooperation when outside the familiar bounds of 'obey or die'. Go figure. So with elections being relegated to the very last possibility, selection defaults to the nominated heir, or heirs, of the last Lord.

It could involve a fight between two or more heirs, if there are so, or one of them just surrenders their claim, in which case it defaults to the other, needing only to be ratified by a quorum of the elders.

Yeah, I bet you're starting to get the long and short of it now.

"Raizo, Kaze." A grizzled old ninja with more scar than skin walks up to us and calls out.

I look around one last time. I _can_ still teleport out, but… yeah. Not a very smart idea.

"Yes" I drawl out, taking care to sound as disrespectful as possible.

"You have killed the Lord Ozunu."

"Yuppers!" I go ahead. To my side Raizo is starting to look chagrined at having let me talk. Hey, you missed your chance, buddy.

"Were you aware that before his death, and actually, before your escape, he'd named the two of you Heirs?"

I wonder if I can get away with lying. Would it actually affect anything?

"Yes." Raizo takes the choice out of my hands. "We were _both_ aware."

"Then you know what comes next. You, Raizo, have yielded your claim. Is this true?"

"Yes, it is." He looks at me right in the eye, and the bastard actually has the guts to _smile._ Y'know, there was a reason why we never contacted each other outside of when we needed to murder our father figure. I'm starting to remember it _very_ acutely now.

"Very well. Then by the ancient laws of the Ozunu, the position of the Head of the Black Sand, with all it's duties and responsibilities, falls to you, Kaze, Edward Montague."

Because of course it does. _Of course_ this is how it all ends up working out. As much as I love the threesomes, this is why I _hate_ this world sometimes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Natalie looked around herself once more as she entered the inner rooms of the penthouse. Her being here, at this time and place was not just shady, it was probably very, very illegal. Unfortunately, the unique combination of doubts, frustration and warring loyalties that clouded her mind proved tp be quite effective at preventing her from realizing that.

Natalie Vasquez had _always_ been something of a loose canon, yes. But this was something even her shining record through training wouldn't be able to shield her from, if it came to light. And yet. And yet, if what she was here for paid off, no one would care. That was how it all worked out, in the end. You had a hunch and took the risk that came with it. If it panned out, you were brilliant, destined for high honors.

If it didn't… well, there was always early retirement. This hunch was a result of a picture that had been sent to her on her personal email, that of the most wanted woman in the world standing in the basement parking area of this building, staring at a car. Natalie had identified the building soon, and looking for the car had yielded it's owner as being the same as the name on the Penthouse of the building, some rich guy she couldn't be bothered to keep track of.

It was so thin as to be laughed out of any court, but it was all she had. She couldn't very well go through canvassing the hundreds of other people who lived here, not if she wanted to do this without tipping her target off. If Parrish had been looking at something in that car standing in this building, she had to have come from here. Which meant this was where she'd been hiding for the last three days, which meant there was evidence here, clues as to her location and plans for what she was going to do next.

Once Natalie found those, she had a feeling the lack of a warrant and all the attached 'questionables' would all suddenly stop mattering. She walked deeper into the house, taking a moment to just look around. Whoever it was that Parrish had gotten to give her shelter, they weren't exactly going to be happy once they found the place turned into a crime scene, she could tell that much.

It was all 'ostentatious luxury' to her, of course, having never had the means or the inclination to find out just how much a rug that felt like it was practically swallowing her feet would cost, but she could tell it had to be a lot.

There was something missing, though. Something really obvious… Natalie was embarrassed to realize that it had taken her almost ten minutes of wandering to house to figure out what. There were no photographs on any walls. There were paintings, all expensive looking artworks, but no family photos, or even single ones.

It probably said something, but she'd never been that good at the psychoanalysis bit. That had always been more… Parrish's thing.

But what Vasquez _had_ been good at was her instincts and reflexes, such as the ones that told her that something in the next bedroom had just moved. She stood very, very still, and could suddenly head a low, strained breathing from the room, along with what was probably some fumbling.

Steeling herself, she raised her gun high and entered the room. It was dark, as she hadn't wanted to turn on any lights for this exact reason. But she could make out a figure standing by the bedside cabinet, looking through the drawers.

"Freeze! FBI!" she called out at once, leveling her gun at the figure.

He saw it as it looked up at her from it's looking around. Then it _moved._ A moment later she was aware of her gun being yanked away from her, before the familiar sounds of it being dismantled impossibly quickly made her realize that everything was probably not as it seemed.

Then she saw the figure toss the pieces to the floor, before turning to look at her.

"Who the fuck are you and what are you doing pointing a gun at me in my own house?" a male voice rasped at her from the darkness.

Instead of answering, she charged. She could see that whoever it was, they were not exactly at their best, slumping in a very familiar way, and they _had_ just attacked her and dismantled her gun.

She rushed the man as she'd been taught, sweeping low just as she delivered a solid upperhand strike.

A fraction of a second later she found her sweeping hit ignored, the shins she'd hit standing still as a rock. Then a barrage of hits crashed into her, targeting her torso, both hands, followed a second later by both legs. The man picked her up by her shoulder, before turning and slamming her, _hard._ Thankfully, it was into the bed. Not so thankfully, it still hurt like a _bitch._

But it got worse a second later. She realized he couldn't move her legs. Or hands. Or any of the parts he'd hit her on. It wasn't paralysis, per se, but rather they were really, impossibly stiff. Trying to move them felt like trying to move through tar.

"What the fuck did you do to me, you bastard?" She yelled out immediately. She never _had_ been one to hide her feelings, after all."

"Neutralized you, for a moment." The voice that responded was perfectly calm.

"Now I'm going to turn the lights on, go wash my face so you don't scream the house down, and pop a couple of pills so I don't die. And then we'll need to talk."

Natalie opened her mouth to speak, but her words died in her throat as the lights came on. She had seen a lot of men before, having lived a full life with all it's ups and downs. But this man… she had never seen something quite like him. At least, not anywhere off a mortuary slab. Because he was _covered_ in blood, loose black wrappings and robes caked in red, a handsome face barely even visible under the dried, encrusted blood on it.

She watched in silence, looking as the man popped first one, then three more pills from different bottles straight down in a matter of seconds. It was only then, once he put the bottles back and brought out another one, this one filled with a liquid instead of pills, that she really _looked_ at him.

She tried to imagine just what he could have gone through, as she heard him walk into the bathroom next door and fill up what sounded like a small bucket with water. Sure enough, a few minutes later he walked back, carrying it and putting in on a table near the bed. He dragged in a chair, dipped a tower into the bucket and used it to wipe his face clean. And it was then that he transfixed her with a direct look into her eyes, and just said. "Okay. Talk."

But she couldn't. Natalie Vasquez was as far from a blushing schoolgirl as it was possible to be, but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate a well-formed man. And this one… he was without doubt the finest example of masculinity she had ever seen. Chiseled face with surprising signs of youth still on it, the clearest grey eyes she had ever seen, hair like black silk… she shook her head for a tiny second, wrenching her thoughts back into focus.

"There's nothing to talk about! I'm FBI, and you're under suspicion of harboring a terrorist!"

He raised an eyebrow, evidently unimpressed with her enthusiastic yelling. "Pardon me if I'm wrong, but last I checked these investigations still used to require little things called 'warrants' before you could barge into people's houses. Could you show me yours, were I to ask?"

Ah. This was the tricky bit, as always… but something about his phrasing leapt out at her. "Are you? Asking, I mean?"

He smiled. "As it happens, I'm not. Now if you could guide me to where I could find your badge, I have a revelation of my own to make."

She told him about the pocket in her jeans, suppressing the urge to twitch as he reached in. It felt like little licks of flame burning her where his fingers touched, even through the fabric of the pocket.

He looked through her ID, carefully reading each bit. Then he pulled out his phone and scanned it, apparently checking for something through it.

Finally, he placed it on the table beside her.

"Well, isn't this a mess. For your information, Ms Vasques, I'm Lance Kruger, NSA. Here's _my_ ID."

And the ID he held in front of her _was_ an NSA one, damn it all. Well, that or a very, very good forgery, especially since she'd always had something of an eye for those.

"I suppose we'd best get started on unraveling this whole shitty mess." Kruger drawled, before walking over to her and bending over her stiffened, all-but-paralyzed form.

Natalie relaxed a bit when his fingers touched her arm, wanting again to twitch but resisting as he pinched, tapped and twisted specific bits. With every little touch she could feel sensation returning to her, allowing her to first feel her fingers properly. But it still felt sluggish to try moving her arm when she tried to clock him upside the head.

Looking at the man, he had a small smile on his lips, as if he knew exactly when she'd wanted to do. "Your blood flow was, for lack of a better word, scrambled. It'll take a little while for your strength to return even once I undo everything I did."

She didn't bother to respond, just lying there as he worked on her other arm. After that, though, she let out a yelp as he pulled her arms straight and pulled her jacket and top off in a smooth motion.

"Hey, what's the idea!"

"Unfortunately, as easy as it is to deliver the damage through clothing, undoing it is rather more delicate work. So unless you would _prefer_ to have something working weird afterwards..."

All she Natalie _could_ do here was acquiesce, so she did. She kept a strict eye for wandering hands, but the man was as good as his word. Some hits to her shoulder areas, a few to her belly and torso, and she could feel an intense _weight_ that had settled on her draining away. She wondered, idly, just what kind of skills would let a man do all this with a few strikes. It had to be some of that weird Asian kung-fu bullshit, she decided. Weaponised Acupuncture, or something like that.

She asked as much.

"Well, I can't say you're wrong, per se. Let's just say that me learning these skills and my current state have a lot in common. Now please don't scream, but I need to start on your legs."

It was certainly an… _experience_ , Vasquez decided, to be lying on a bed in her underwear, a bed that probably cost more than she'd made at the FBI so far all put together, with a man systematically working on her, and for it all to be as clinical as it was.

"Y'know, it probably says something about me that this isn't the weirdest situation I've been in." She said as a way to break the silence that had fallen as Kruger undid his 'blood scrambling' to her knees.

He just chuckled in response, evidently focused on the 'rather more delicate' work he was doing. It was almost a full minute later that he spoke up, out of nowhere "So what is this about the Parrish investigation? One would think you'd have publicized things by now."

She considered for a moment whether it was a good idea to share things with him. Then she evaluated her situation. If he had any ill intentions, he'd had every opportunity to execute them already. And the ID _was_ genuine, as far as she could tell.

"There are people arguing for that. But she's been sighted in all sorts of odd places, and there's supposedly pressure coming in the do this thing properly." She wasn't even supposed to know this last bit. She'd only found it out after some snooping into why exactly the procedures on the investigation were being randomly changed around.

Something about her answer seemed to have interested the NSA agent, who lapsed into a contemplative silence, his hands continuing their work across her nerves. It was several minutes, in total, before he took a step back and pronounced himself complete.

"And there we go. All done. You should have full sensation back in a matter of seconds, and your full strength and mobility back in five minutes or so. Which is probably good, because I need to get started on making sure _I_ don't end up a lifelong cripple now.

"What?" she all but yelled.

"Well, honey, all this blood isn't for show. If you're here you probably know that I haven't been around for the last three days or so. Believe it or not, I was off fighting my old Ninja mentor in the mountains of Japan."

That… was such an odd statement that Natalie just kept quiet for a second. Then she ran it though again in her head. _Still_ not the weirdest thing she'd ever seen.

"And how does that put you in danger of getting crippled for life?"

"The injuries, Ms Vasques. Again, these aren't for show. Bastard used a poison, one of my own design. The pills you saw me pop will take care of the worst of it, but I need to clean the wounds with this", he indicated the bucket he'd brought out "to ensure none of them will fester into crippling injuries."

"… Ah." There wasn't much one could say to that, really. She watched in silence as Kruger, no, _Lance_ took his shirt off, followed by the undershirt. She suppressed her horrified gasp when she saw the collection of injuries across his chest. Stab wounds across both arms, shoulders and several on his chest. A long gash right through his chest and stomach, and what looked like a number of small puncture wounds reaching across his upper chest and dangerously close to his throat.

Even as she felt it become easier and easier to move her arms, she watched him clean each of the wounds carefully and methodically, the tower becoming more red than white within minutes. The water in the bucket obviously had that liquid he'd taken from his cupboard mixed in, and she could see it working. Yellow, ugly swellings near the wounds were disappearing, discolored skin returning to pristine white…

She was brought out of her thoughts by Kruger's voice "Well, you should be alright now. Tell you what, why don't you catch me this evening, say here, and we can go over the case and whatever you wanted to investigate here in my apartment?"

Natalie balked at the dismissal. For all his wounds and stories, he was still the leading suspect for Parrish's collaborator! But something about him made her quail on the idea of taking him in. He'd taken her down, hard, when he'd had to have been in horrific pain and weakness. Now he looked half fixed already. But it wasn't the threat of violence. She had another gun down in her car and she could riddle him with bullets before he had any idea what was happening. There was just something… unspeakable. Something that screamed into her mind that trying to test him would be a _bad_ idea.

Shaking her head, she Natalie just got up from the bed, walking towards the door. She'd get some rest and come back in the evening. It was a fair enough suggestion.

It was when she'd walked to the door that he spoke up. "Um… I'd hate to tell you what you should or shouldn't do, but you might want your clothes if you're going back to the FBI."

She _did not blush._ Collecting her clothes from the bed, she walked back out of the room, intending to dress without giving him a show while he cleaned himself up.

It was only when she was at the door to the bathroom attached to the main hall outside the bedroom where all this had happened, already starting to get dressed, that she heard the 'Thud'.

In a second she was back in the room, already in a fighting position. But that wasn't going to happen, by the looks of it. Kruger was on the floor, the bloodied rag he'd been using a feet away from him, the bucket upturned with it's water rapidly drenching the carpet.

"What the fuck happened?"

"Nothing. Just… taking a nap. Okay by the evening, probably." When he spoke, it was barely more than a whisper. It was enough to tell her just how much he'd been faking for the last several minutes. It must have taken everything he had to fight her… and then undo all the damage.

Natalie looked at the man lying on the floor in front of her, chest still covered in injuries. None of them looked poisoned, at least. She walked around and looked at his back, suppressing another shudder at the crisscross mess of stabs and lacerations that decorated it, each of them ugly and swollen with poison. She looked at his legs, still covered in pants but more in blood.

She looked at her watch, and thought back to the mandatory time off she'd been ordered at, which had brought her here in the first place.

Then she cursed, and picked the bucket back up, walking over to the bathroom.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It's the turn-over that wakes me up. I feel myself go taut in an instant, muscles coiling, ready to leap into action. The reason being that I'm not as I was when I fell…. Ah, 'asleep'.

Then I feel the touch of a beautiful woman as she leans over me, brushing hair from my forehead to get a better look at the cut that's supposed to be there. I hear her puzzled breath, which evolves into a gasp as she takes a full look across my chest.

It all comes back, then. The fight, the FBI agent… the magnificently beautiful, tight body that I had so badly scrambled… and the bit where I passed out because I was being so fucking stupid.

But it wasn't like I'd had any choice at any part of it. From the actual fight to the last bits of the meeting with the Clan Elders where Raizo abandoned me, I hadn't had any chance to actually check myself for damage. I'd just set the healing processes in motion and sat down for the meeting. It was only after it was done that I realized that I hadn't, in fact, healed a bit.

I knew what poison Ozunu had used, of course. It was one I had developed for this exact purpose, namely to disable Ozunu healing and at the same time dull the sensations in the wounds so the target doesn't recognize it.

Using a teleport meant mostly for Stage Magic to travel from Japan to New York had taken most of what I had left in me, and fighting the agent and healing her had taken the rest. But if only I'd bothered to get my healing stuff from one of my _other_ safe houses, instead of the one where I'd given shelter to a woman being framed as the worst terrorist alive…

Oh well. All is well that ends well, and considering this has ended with me in bed and a woman clad only in delectably tiny underwear leaning over me and gasping her surprise, I can conclude that this has ended _particularly_ well.

I let my eyes roam across her, taking her in _properly_ for the first time. The face is, of course, beautiful, but it's outmatched by the muscled, lithe, _tight_ body, the just-right sized breasts that are just _begging_ for attention, and all the rest of her.

I feel her getting over her shock, before she pulls off the sheet to inspect my legs. I take the chance to do it too, noting that she's left me wearing only my boxers. Fair enough, I suppose. My legs are, of course, healed too, the pills I'd popped supplying all the needed bits as well as accelerating the whole process by several times.

It's when she comes close to me to flip me over again and check my back that I act.

It's not as if there's any lack of interest, considering how focused she is on me. I don't miss the way her fingers trail across my body, absent-mindedly tracing every one of the muscles it took me weeks and months to develop.

When she's putting in her strength to turn me over, face barely inches from mine, it becomes impossible to resist. My hands fall across her body, one holding on right to her waist and pulling her in hard until she's all but molded across my own body, while I go to work on her back with the other, hitting several nerve clusters in succession.

She all but jumps in surprise, before the clusters do their job and she starts squirming just a tad. Then I do the only thing that makes sense. I lean in and kiss her, hard. She seems surprised for a moment, before returning the kiss with a fiery intensity that leaves even me dazzled for an instant.

It sit up a second later, the hand around her waist settling across her ass before I physically pull her into my lap, cock growing hard as I feel it come into contact with her already moist panties. She breaks away from the kiss after a few seconds, hitting me with an evaluative look. I can sense she wants to say something, but I opt not to give her the chance. The hand that's not gripping her ass goes tight on her hair, pulling it back with a slight yank, before I take the opportunity where she yelps to return to my kiss.

It's when I feel her own arms wrap around me, one settling tight at the back of my head, that I finally throw caution to the wind. I deepen the kiss in an instant, plundering the inside of her mouth with everything I have. Tongues battle and we map out every tooth and every bit of what lies behind the lips, all the while I get to work on her oh-so-exquisite body.

One hand dips into her panties, digging from the back to reach her already gushing, swollen pussy. I feel her moan into my lips as I touch her pussy, gently running my fingers across the lips, before flicking her clit. Even as she lets out her loudest moan yet it's the work of an instant to have her bra off, and then I break the kiss, pulling her hair hard to bring her neck up.

"Oh, fuck, you bastard!" she moans as I leave a trail of kisses across her throat, all the while my hand works at her pussy, pressing and pinching around it and flicking and pinching at her clit every few seconds.

I enjoy the way she thrashes, nails digging deep into me back as I descend upon her perfect tits. I push her back a little, withdrawing my hand from within her panties as I lay her out on the bed, one hand mauling and plundering her breasts while I lick, kiss and in general make a mess of the other one.

It's not long before I have her cumming, with my taking the chance to dip my fingers, already wet with her nectar into her mouth. She clamps onto them, licking them clean and holding them tight. I feel a slight pinch of her teeth just as I clamp down on her nipple, provoking another scream as I press hard and _twist_ the other one at the same time.

It's clear there's at least a little masochism going on with this girl, considering how she reacts to pain. I turn it up just a notch, one hand disappearing again into her panties while I return to kissing her.

It's her who goes on the attack this time, biting first my lips and then my tongue just hard enough to be fun instead of painful, before she breaks the kiss and moves to the rest of my face. It's when she's at my ear, biting hard that I discover yet another soft spot, this one on her belly.

"Oh, OH FUCK!" she screams right into my ear as I pinch it hard, a hand yanking at my hair while the other leaves deep scratches across my lower back. I take the opportunity to move back down, kissing her belly where I just pinched it, while both my hands get busy. I return one to her tits, mauling one with everything I have while the other descends on her ass.

I have her moaning again in seconds, especially when I continue the trail of kisses lower. I can feel her pleasure rising again, the mounting pressure doing _wonderful_ things to her body as she thrashes and bucks like a wild mare. I move down to the waistband of her panties, taking it between my teeth and beginning a slow descent with my reward clenched tight.

She grabs at one of my hands and brings it to her lips, licking and just sucking on it hard as I take considerable pleasure in the way her panties stick to her gushing mound. Moving downwards, my finger slips free of her lips before pushing to behind her, propping her up so she's more sitting up than lying down. That's only for lo long as it takes me to get back to her ass, though, both hands settling on one of her cheeks even as her panties finally reach her knees.

I start mauling it again while painstakingly keeping her bucking legs together, taking care to heighten her pleasure while never letting it go _quite_ high enough _._ I feel more than see her own fingers descending on her pussy, and I release her panties to dart back upwards, taking them into my mouth before she can enter herself. She clamps onto the back of my head with her other hand, but I move my hands free of her ass and grab hold of her hands.

"Oh, you absolute bastard! Just let me CUM!"

"Not just yet, my dear. Not this time." Is all I say before back down. Taking her panties back between my teeth, I move downwards slower than ever, finally pulling them off of her feet with a slight jerk. Instead of letting them fall, I grab hold of them, releasing her hands in the process.

Before she can push her fingers inside her, I move back upwards, pushing her hand aside and pressing my knee against her mound, blocking all access to it even as I grind it into her. Ignoring her thrashes and twitches, I press the panties into her mouth, pushing the drenched fabric in until not even a hint of it remains out.

"Why don't we play a game now, dear? You're not going to speak from this moment on. The instant those panties leave your mouth, all this ends and you get to go back home that very instant."

I wonder if I've pushed it too far when she goes utterly still at this. Moving back up I kiss her again, enjoying the way her panties come between our tongues, while the taste of her juices mixes across our lips.

It's only when she fights me back, tongue pushing across mine _through_ the thin fabric, that I get back to work. Both her hands take hold of my head hard this time, pushing me between her legs even as my own hands return to her ass.

I grab hold of her thighs between my elbows and shoulders now, even as my actual hands continue to pinch and poke around her asshole. Locking my hands in to ensure she can't move away, I finally take her clit between my teeth, biting hard just as both my little fingers enter her backdoor at the same time.

The scream she screams shakes the house, even through the very effective gag in her mouth. I get properly at work on her pussy now, pushing my tongue in and going to town with every trick I've ever learned.

Her thighs clam down around my head even as I take her higher and higher from her third orgasm straight into her fourth. Her muffled noises are getting louder and louder now as I move away, though, returning to work on her inner thighs instead.

It's a delicate trick, to let her come down from her fourth orgasm _just_ a bit, but keeping her there, right at the edge. I continue with my licking and biting even as one of my hands returns to her breasts, the other remaining right where it is, playing with her ass.

A few minutes in the pressure on my head makes it feel like I'll pop, while her hand is doing its best to rip my hair out.

I continue at it for several minutes yet, returning to her pussy every few seconds, swirling my tongue and penetrating her folds in ways that I know push her _right_ to the edge, before moving away and letting her cool off.

It's when I feel her hands leave my head and head for her own mouth so she can pull the panties out and scream at me that I act. I move quickly, rising to meet her lips with my own in another deep kiss. Biting her lips hard I close my teeth around her panties again, now drenched with her saliva as well as her own juices.

Pulling them out and tossing them aside, I clamp a hand down on her freed mouth before she can speak. I plunge my other hand down into her folds again, hooking a finger against her inner walls just as I know she likes it. She buckles, hard, a keening sound penetrating my gag.

Then I pull out again, before freeing her mouth. I kiss her hard, again, before moving to her ears.

"Beg me."

"Oh, you bastard! Just FUCK ME!"

I slow down even more, starting to trace lazy circles around her puffed labia. My other hand moves across her face, avoiding her attempts to suck on it.

"Not that way, Natalie. You have to _mean_ it. Ask for it. _Beg me_ to fuck you.

I can see that she's still on the edge, so I make it easier for her by returning to my assault on her ass. My fingers pinch, tweak and maul their way to her asshole again, while I grind my knee into her pussy just hard enough to drive her insane.

She lets out her loudest scream yet, though it's cutoff when she realizes there's no orgasm coming after all.

Then she just moans, going hoarse "Just… _fuck me_. Give me your cock already!"

"Say the magic words, Natalie? Who are you, and what do you want?"

"I'm your LITTLE FBI BITCH! FUCK ME WITH YOUR COCK ALREADY YOU BAST-" I cut off her last words by capturing her lips yet again, while my cock enters her dripping, _squelching_ pussy in a rush. I don't bother to take it slow at all, hammering in right to the hilt in one go.

And then she's screaming her head off, a keening, screech that times it's highs and lows with every time she yanks at my hair and digs her nails into my back. Instead of slowing down I move faster, enjoying the way her tight, hot little cunt does it's best to grip my cock and never let go.

I won't last long, I know, not with how hard I've gotten with her moans and screams already. But I make the best of it, powering right through her orgasm until she's at the verge of the next. I hook my arms under her shoulders and pick her off the bed, _slamming_ her into the glass window before I start to fuck her as hard as she can take right against it.

"D'you know that the lights are on? It's night time. Anyone in the city with a telescope could turn this way and see the hot FBI slut getting pounded against the wall like a _whore._ You like that, don't you, you little _slut?"_ I whisper into her ear, slowly pulling out of her all the while.

Her response is cut off by the moan that replaces it as I _pound_ myself back in, replaced by a loud moan. I go on with this again and again, provoking her into hot, angry growls that turn into screams and moans as my cosk plunders her tight, wet canal with an intensity that would make the window crack if it wasn't bulletproof.

Before long I'm right at my edge too, having pushed her to her… sixth? Probably the seventh orgasm. I take the combined mess of my precum and her juices off of our joining and shove my fingers into her mouth, enjoying the way her tongue cleans them off of them with a feverish desperation.

And then I'm exploding, feeling spurt after spurt of my cum pouring into her as she explodes with her own orgasm once again, scream erupting loud into the night. I turn her around mid-orgasm, continuing with the pounding even as the delicious wondrous friction of her actually _turning_ with me still inside of her elicits another several spurts out of me.

She leans in for another kiss immediately, but I dodge, leaning instead into her ear. A few licks and bites later she's moaning hard, even as I finish off my own orgasm.

"I really hope you don't think this is it, my dear. We have a long way to go still." Is all I say, enjoying the moan of shock and surprise that echoes from her as I time it with inserting a finger right into her asshole.

From there it's a medley of slapping and moaning sounds as I systematically fuck the FBI agent on every surface of the house. Against the inner walls, on the kitchen table… but it's back when we're on the bed that things heat up again.

I'm lying on my back, hands exploring her back as she impales herself on me again and again in Reverse Cowgirl, when she speaks up "Dammit, you monster. I'm sore and aching already, what will it take to finish you off?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Y'know, you don't have to go on if you can't handle it. You wouldn't be the first _girl_ I was too much man for."

It's exactly the right thing to say, considering how it gets her to turn straight around while still wrapped around my cock, producing that most wonderful of sensations again.

"What did you just say to me?" She asks, timing it with a particularly hard thrust that brings me right to her Cervix. By now her cunt has basically reshaped itself around me, tracing every vein and contour perfectly, and I can't help but delight in the vibrations her words send across her body.

Pinching her nipples hard now that they're in reach again, I say "I said, you're free to stop if you can't handle my cock, _girl."_

Instead of responding, she rips my hands away from her tits, pushing them against my chest. Then she descends, taking one of my ears between her teeth and biting down hard enogh to draw blood, even as she rises completely off my cock… and falls again until she's right at the.

But this time it's not her cunt that I feel my cock at the entrance of.

"Ooh, I didn't even know this was an option!" I mean I'm not going to stop being cheeky, am I?

In lieu of answering she just moves her lips to my beck, while her hands roam my chest to trace every scar and muscle on it. I can feel her hesitating, her asshole tightening instead of loosening.

"Shut… up, bastard. First time I…"

Then she pushes her self off my chest, going vertical again. I can feel her trying to gather her courage, readying herself to impale her ass on my cock.

I make it easier for her. I couple of touches on her hips is all it takes to suddenly disrupt the tension in her legs, making them loose their strength. It's for just an instant, but it does it's job as she loses all ability to hold herself above me. With my rock-hard cock already pointed at the right hole, I clamp down on her scream with a hand as I feel myself enveloped by the warm depths of her backdoor.

If her pussy was tight her ass is a fucking _vice,_ gripping onto my cock for dear life and refusing to imagine letting go. I move us before she's even regained her wits, turning us around so she's at the bottom again. Then I start to push into her scooping up her own juices to act as a lubricant. I make it slow at first, waiting for her ass to adjust to the entry.

Then, just as she regains her wits and her lips start forming words I enter her hard, burying myself in to the hilt in a single motion. The scream that rips out of her throat could have been of pain, were it not for the orgasm that's painting my groin right now.

I start moving with abandon now, plundering her insiders with a furious, desperate _need_. He ass is _amazing_ in every way, vice-right muscles shaping themselves around my cock even as I move, an incredible hotness making me feel like I'll burn just as I get squeezed out of all my juices.

I fuck her against the bed, hard, timing myself to her attempts to speak. It's only once she's abandoned all attempts at regaining her wits and has descending into a long, sustained keen only interrupted with loud moans and screams that I move yet again.

This time I slow down entirely in the cold air, letting it wash over her and recover. It's several minutes of me slowly fucking her ass that she regains her wits over, and realizes just where she is.

"Are you fucking crazy? What your you doing?"

"Not so loud, Agent. Don't you know the whole world can see you?" And it can. We're at my balcony, her naked, upper body hanging in the air above the skyscraper, tits hanging for the world to see. Just as she's about to say something I speed up yet again, enough to stop her but not enough to make her lose her mind.

"Say that you love this, you slut of an agent. _Say it!"_

It's a testament of how far she's gone over the course of this fuck session that she doesn't even hesitate. I turn her around yet again, pushing her back against the cold concrete as I pull entirely out of her. She looks at me desperately, legs clamping around my ass and trying to force me in even as her hands try to pull my head to hers.

"Not until you admit it, Agent _Whorquez!"_ Okay, that one is bad. But she's not in a state to care!

I have to say, I take far too much enjoyment in the look in her eyes as as her will breaks.

"Please, I love this. I'm your slut agent who loves being fucked out in the open where everyone can see. I'll be anything you want. Just fuck me!"

"As you wish, dear" I whisper into her ears, before plunging back into her ass with a pistoning motion that has her moaning into the night yet again.

It's here, in the cold air of 2 AM in the balcony of the penthouse on top of a skyscraper, that she has her last orgasm of the night. I press her against the floor, hands clamped around her tits as I _maul_ them yet again, as we explode together, her fluids painting my floor even as I fill her ass with my own cum.

She's nearly catatonic at the end there, just moaning breathlessly as I carry her back to the bed. I toss her onto it none-too-gently, before going to sleep next to her myself. Healed as I am, there's still a little damage I need to take care of.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

What wakes me is not the light, even though the sunlight is trying to all but burn my eyelids off. It's not even the loudly ringing phone on the bedside table. What wakes me up is the first stirrings of my orgasm, my balls twitching as I feel the incredibly hot, wet mouth around me bob up and down on my cock.

The tongue working the tip is skilled, _a lot_ , I have to admit. It all comes back to me in a flash, my meeting with Agent Natalie Vasques, followed by our _meeting._ I let one hand fall gently on the back of her head, absent-mindedly guiding the speed at which her head bobs up and down my cock.

I'm rendered fully awake, however, when I feel her move her head hard, taking my full length into her in an instant. And she doesn't even stop. Immediately after deepthroating me I feel her start swallowing around my cock, _hard_ , before pulling back until only the tip rests in her mouth. Her tongue works me over again, licking at and around my tip and trying to push at the 'eye' of the snake, while her hands work my balls and shaft with incredible skill.

A moment later she takes mer mouth off me entirely, falling back to my balls, I slowly tangle my hand in her hair as she licks at my balls and sucks, before licking the long and slow way up my shaft. She repeats this over and over, and I feel my orgasm coming closer and closer with every lick.

To her credit she seems to get it, judging by the way she takes me in again just in time. I enjoy the feel of the wetness and sheer _hotness_ of her mouth for a few seconds, before acting just once as I feel myself overloading. I grip her hair hard, and _pull_ at her head, fucking her throat _hard_ until I'm fully sheathed into her throat.

 _Then_ I feel myself explode down her cum pouring into her with every little spurt. I ignore the way her hands thrash at my hips and thighs, even the scratches they leave at them. It's when I feel myself slowing down that I release my grip, letting her pull back till only the tip is behind her lips. To her credit I don't see so much as a drop having escaped so far, and judging by the speed at which she's swallowing not a drop will.

And then I'm spent, leaning back against my pillow. I watch in silence as she rises from her position, walking over to the bathroom and rinsing her mouth out.

"Good morning." She says as she sits beside me.

"It certainly is now." I drawl, lewdly leering at her while my hands idly trace her curves down from her neck.

"Yeah. That was for last night. I didn't realize how much I needed that till I got it."

"You're wel-" I'm interrupted by the punch that hits me straight on my mouth.

"And that was for two minutes ago. No one stops me from work at my own pace, asshole"

I just pull her fist to my face and kiss it. She wasn't the only one who needed last night. And this morning.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


End file.
